Wednesday, 14 March 2018


In my continual attempts to express, both to myself and others, the wonders of the Easter Story, here is a recent offering about the cross.

Who hung himself upon a cross?
Who partnered with the hands of men?
Who stood before the furnace door? 
Who burned and, burning, sheltered them?

Who stepped under the wrath of God?
Who bore it, took it, drank it down?
Who grabbed the poisoned cup of death?
Who laid Himself under the ground?

Who gave up God, for God's own sake?
Who, 'I'm abandoned' bitter, cried? 
Who an abomination made? 
Who in such filthy ending, died? 

Who at bright noon pulled on the night?
Who closed his eyes in dark of soul? 
Who bowed under injustice' weight? 
Who made Himself an offering, whole? 

Who pulled sharp pain into his bed?
Who ache and sorrow gave embrace?
Who laid Him down in squirming hell? 
Who smeared our spit upon His face?

Who ripped his soul with his bare hands?
Who cast the pieces to the floor?
Who stamped upon them underfoot? 
Who willed them buried, evermore?

Who let His blood for all mankind?
Who show'rs of His own water, sprayed?
Who ope'd compassion's deeper vein? 
Who, limp and lifeless, Himself laid?

Only one.
Who sufficed? 
God's own Son.
Jesus Christ.

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