| Sunday Morning in Jerusalem |
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They came for Him, Under the cover of the night (In the olive garden, Gethsemane), Like thieves; not workers of the light ... Soldiers, with shield and sword, To capture my humble, loving, Lord; To bring Him, in humility, And bound Him with leather cord. Betrayed, by a kiss, Of a follower and friend; The Man, who came in love, Would come to this awful end. He gave no resistance, But went most willingly, Taking on the sins of the world; For the guilty, such as me. His silence only angered the court And those that had gathered there. As Pilot washed his hands of it, He wanted a reason His life to spare. "Do you claim to be the son of God? What sayest thou to this accusation?" "It is as you have said," He replied. "I am He, just as the prophets made proclamation." Pilot declared, "I find no fault in Him. What say ye? Will you have Jesus or Barabbas? Which man shall I now free?" "Give us Barabbas. Set him free. Take Jesus. Crucify Him," they cried. "Let it be on our hands, before God. Let Jesus be crucified." "As ye have said," answered Pilot. "Take Jesus away." After fashioning a crown of thorns, "We crown you King of the Jews, this day." The crowd pressed in to see The gentle carpenter's son While some cut a cross, for His death; Where he would die, before this day was done. They lined the streets (The rich, the poor, the greedy); Even some he had touched, in life, And those He gave to that were needy. Laughing and cursing, an occasion to gather, With what was joyous jubilation of victory. They had crushed the enemy, so they thought. This is what they had come to see ... As the hammer hit the nails Into the hands of God's beloved Son. For this day was He born. Now, His earthly task was done. Nails ripping loving flesh As the cross dropped roughly into place, Tearing bone from flesh; The death of such disgrace. This, for me, all for me - Suffering, in silence and shame: Dying, as a common thief, My Jesus; The Christ, Deity, Jehovah - all the same. "Father, in to Thy hands I commend my spirit." The horrible deed was done and over As the spear, in His side, was the end of it. A borrowed tomb was His. But, the sin He bore was mine. Crushed and placed between the rocks, My Lord, My Saviour, So Divine. Satan, with glee, had victory. Jesus was dead, at last. But, short lived was His jubilation. Friday was, now, past. Into the bowels of darkest hell, With the keys to set the captive free; It was Sunday, in Jerusalem. Satan was defeated and now I could be free. He is Lord. He lives. Sunday morning, in Jerusalem, that day; Risen, Victorious, love beyond degree. For my salvation, Jesus had made a way. |
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