Promises are easy to believe when things are going well,
When every ear wants to hear the truths you’re offering to tell,
When the crowds are cheering, and coming near from far and wide,
Miracles abound and life comes back to those who died;

But when the mob turns violent and screams in rage at Christ your Lord,
Mighty Rome is on their side and stands with endless gleaming swords,
The one you thought would save you is scourged and beaten half to death,
Those promises can easily seem like an empty shibboleth.

When He hangs there, maimed and spent, His lifeblood flowing from each tear,
The jeering, leering audience fills your heart with more despair.
Last week’s words of hope and life are lost amidst the awful sight,
All thoughts have turned to how to hide and survive the coming night…

Promises are easy to believe when things are going well,
Not when your world’s transforming into a seething, living hell;
Amidst the chaos, turmoil and the terrifying noise,
Remember what he promised in his calm and loving voice.