Poems

“For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that through He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, so that you through His poverty might become rich” (2 Cor. 8:9). What is Christ’s poverty, but an exclamation of His love? And, oh how we refuse it so…denying the pain afforded to him wanting little to do with the actual Cross.

Suffering? What’s that? Give me joy unspeakable?
Pain, embarrassment, ridicule?
Those are not for me,
I bear no Cross except the one I choose,
and splinters I shall not see.
Polish it off, show me its shine
Oh! What a glory that will be!
To ascend upon Calvary sturdy
and primed is a fate I’ll gladly see.
Crowds alongside cheering me on as
I walk to the hill with the skull.

But what do I find when I arrive there at last?
A Savior who looks none like me.

Oh Lord, what have I done?
As you hang bruised and battered
I barely recognize the face that I see, but it is You, I know,
none the less hanging there on Calvary.
The soldiers they stab You as the crowd cheers them on
As I stand and ponder, “Oh, Lord what have I done?”

I’ve been a scorner, mocking in shame dressed in robes of victory,
knowing none of Your pain.
How could I have missed it?
You did this just for me,
as I stand clothed in victory.
My pride is the searing pain
in Your chest.
My ignorance is the blood
dripping on Your head.
My sin as apparent as the bruises
on Your face.
How could I have missed that?
I sought for a glory,
a Christ that was whole.
I sought for victory
over the sin that I know.
I sought for a Savior
that could conquer anything.
I sought for a Master
like none would know.

And here I am at the hill with a skull
Faced with a Calvary I barely know
Bruised and battered,
Torn and beaten,
Naked and bloody,
Where is the Christ that I thought I knew?

Hanging there, hanging there is my Savior my Lord
The One who has saved me and condemns me no more.
Hanging there, hanging there is the Victor of Life,
Dying to pay my redemption price.
Hanging there, hanging there is the Master of all
submitting to those who have come from the fall.
Hanging there, hanging there is the glory of Christ–
Risen not yet,
this is Christ crucified.

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Tagged as: Easter, Lent, Poems

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