It was my sin that pinned him there,
My blows he chose to take;
The insults I deserved to bear
He suffered for my sake.
If I had seen him on the cross,
Would I have turned away?
Would I have joined that ugly mob
On that horrific day?
Would I have fled and hid in fear
That I was next in line?
Would I have seen the signs appear
When noonday ceased to shine?
Would I have stood and watched and wept
As his blood was shed,
My heart unable to accept
That my lord was dead?
Would I have understood the gift
That he was giving me,
The price he paid to heal the rift
And set my spirit free?
Do I now live in thankfulness
For all that he has done,
And joy that words cannot express
At all his death has won?
On this special day, I’d like to share a brief vision I had a number of years ago, that ties in with and illustrates the message of Romans chapter 6.
In it Jesus was hanging on the cross. I ran over to him and embraced him as he hung there.
A voice behind me said, “You want to identify with this disgrace? Fine.”
A long metal spike was hammered into my back, piercing through my heart, through Christ’s body and into the cross, pinning me there, and we both died.
I woke up in the tomb next to Him, He helped me to my feet and we walked into the sunshine together.
He turned to me and smiled. “You have died with me, you have been raised with me. Now live like it.”
The most innocent of all of us was ruthlessly betrayed
Publicly humiliated, tortured, torn and flayed
Forced up a hill to be upon it gruesomely displayed,
Yet most distressing was the message that this act conveyed.
It wasn’t because he was weak that this could all occur,
In fact he with this horrifying treatment did concur;
He had a throng of angels at his very back and call,
Yet told them to stand down and let him undergo it all.
Even when abandoned by his closest friends and kin,
Even when guards beat and mocked him with malicious grins,
Even when the shards of bone dug deep well past his skin,
Even when they laid him down and drove the nails in,
Even when exposed for hours in the burning sun,
Even when it looked as if his work had been undone,
Even when the powerful sneered and hurled insults his way,
Even when his loving Father had to look away,
He accepted every injury, permitted every slight,
Submitted to each sinful man’s full rage against the light.
Not once did he protest or use his ample lordly might,
Since this was how he paid the price so things could be put right.
This is one of the first songs I ever wrote, with a very simple haunting guitar accompaniment (stretching my very poor guitar skills to the limit). I was sure I had it written down somewhere but couldn’t find it, so have reconstructed it from what I remember. It is about Good Friday, which is today. If I can get them finished in time, I hope to have a poem about Easter Saturday up tomorrow, and one about Easter Sunday the day after, we’ll see how that goes. Continue reading