The Passion

As I began this poem, it became clear that the Lord wanted something with the intensity of the movie "The Passion." Although lacking the visual element, words evoke images, so it is all there. Take time with this, and let it seep into your spirit - take time to hear the sounds and see His Passion.

The angels must have cried out when they looked upon the scene,
To see the One they loved so much so beaten and demeaned.
The banisters of Glory could not hold them all
As they struggled there to watch Him as He’d stumble and He’d fall.

They’d seen Him mocked and beaten with the scourge and with the lash,
The crown of thorns put on Him by the men so rude and rash.
They’d seen Him torn and battered, they’d seen the crimson flood,
White bone exposed to daylight in a scarlet sea of blood.

They’d seen Him fall and stagger as He struggled there alone,
They’d seen the skin and sinew as they ripped it from the bone.
They’d heard the raging crowd as they cried out “Crucify!”
And they watched their darling Jesus as they led Him forth to die.

Now He stumbles and He staggers walking up the stony path,
He’s mocked and jeered and spat on by the people in their wrath.
(Not so very long ago He in the manger lay,
But now that’s all forgotten on this, His dying day.)

Oh, my! He falls and stumbles! Th’excruciating pain
Has bested Him, He can’t go on, He falls and falls again.
The lash snakes out and gouges Him along His quivering back,
He cries out but remains where He has fallen in His track.

Simon now is carrying the cross on up the hill;
And Jesus follows after, but He sways and stumbles still.
He staggers and He stumbles, He stumbles and He sways;
He leaves a trail of blood in the dust along the way.

And now up on the mountain top they lay Him on the wood,
Stretch forth His hands, impale them there, the epitome of good.
They nail His feet, then lift Him high, then they let Him drop;
His body quakes and trembles as He feels the jarring shock.

He hangs ‘twixt heaven and earth there, bleeding out His last;
The angels watch Him suffer and all heaven is aghast.
Their tears fall down like raindrops just to watch Him suffer so,
To see Him in such pain, to see His blood so freely flow.

A raging thirst inflicts Him, and He cannot draw a breath,
All His bones are out of joint as He fast approaches death.
The angels gasp to hear the Savior cry out from the tree -
“Oh, my God, oh why, my God, hast Thou forsaken me.”

The earth begins to tremble and the thunder rumbles loud,
The sun goes dark, the sky turns black, an enveloping, funereal shroud.
The Son cries “It is finished!” and then gives up the Ghost;
The angels weep to see the death of Him they loved the most.

With a sword they pierce His side, and blood and water flowed;
The soldier with the sword said “Surely, this must be the Son of God.”
His friends aghast, to see the last, of all their hope and trust;
The angels cast their downward glance at the death of all that’s just.

They took His body down and laid Him in a borrowed tomb;
They rolled a stone before the door to keep Him in the gloom.
The angels hide their faces underneath their folded wings;
Their sad grief knows no limits at the sorrow that it brings.

Three days, and then one morn an angel rolled the stone away;
The disciples came and looked and saw He was not where He lay.
For love is stronger far than death, and death its limits knows;
The Christ that suffered so for us is the Christ that for us rose.

Oh, friends, we know the story, how the Savior suffered thus,
He took the weight of all our sin and bore it there for us.
Are we as moved as angels as we contemplate this scene?
Or do we pass by glibly, and thus God’s grace demean?

Oh, let His Passion move us, let it be our rallying cry;
He suffered for He loved us, and that enough to die.
Let this be our passion – the Grace of God so free,
And let us in this love find all our life and liberty.