The Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ
It is no small feat to attempt to speak
of the dying of our Lord
who sacrificed Himself for us
by a fate far worse than fire or by sword.
For one as whom not qualified
to write of this great deed,
the Son of God who gave Himself
for such a fool as me.
I beg sincere forgiveness before
continuing with this task
of shedding light on the Passion
of ours and God’s own past.
For I’m no theologian
nor deacon, preacher, priest,
I’m just someone who’s time has come
to ponder, wander, reach…
Towards Jerusalem and Judea,
Bethlehem, Nazareth, Hebron,
where miracles healed the sick, deaf, and blind
and the dead brought forth from beyond.
And Jesus walking on the Sea of Galilee,
feeding five thousand souls,
with a few small fish and His own wish
to fill their hearts with gold.
Speaking parables like the Mustard Seed
and the Sermon on the Mount he made,
where all were blessed and found true rest
beneath his loving shade.
Until things turned sad and he grew mad
at the money changers and their greed,
then tossed and turned them upside down
hoping some of them might see.
His message clear for the far and near
to heed his beckon call,
to change their minds and learn to climb
above their tainted temple walls.
But the Sanhedrin yearned to watch Him burn
for defying their own laws,
for claiming to be the One True God
and pointing out their own flaws.
And thus, the story did unfold
with Judas waiting in the wings
to turn him in, this once dear friend
with a kiss the traitor did sting and bring.
The wrath of those who would dispose
of all their sacred vows
to love their God with all their hearts
that nature could allow.
Then taking Him by any means
to crucify this fiendish fake
not knowing they were on the verge
of making their own worst mistake.
“To Golgotha,” they shouted,
“Crucify that man!
He’s not one of us,” they screamed
playing straight into His plan.
And so they came with whips and chains
and a crown of thorns awaiting
pressed into his skull near brain
the pain insane, excruciating.
They tore his flesh with leather whips
and meat hooks tied on ends
to inflict the meanest mighty blow
no man could comprehend.
Unless you’re the one receiving
every passing, striking blow
slowing time throughout all time
that only He could know.
And then the trudge, the trail of blood,
and dragging his own cross
over steps and stones through tears and groans
so that all humanity won’t be lost.
Where they finally hung him on a tree
with nails through flesh and bone
to send a message far and wide:
“This King is not our own.”
With his Mother Mary weeping
beneath his bruised and bloody feet
he bowed his head and softly said:
“It’s finished, finally, I’m set free.”
And his killers danced, laughed and pranced
as he lay inside a tomb
until a few days later
when their laughter turned to gloom.
Hearing he had risen
they could not believe their ears
as he was talking, walking ‘round again
attested to by strangers, friends and His Apostles near.
All swearing it was true as you
and I are here today,
with the hope of everlasting life
and more joy along the way.
Than those who choose to turn and run
from the sacrificial Lamb:
the One in Three, called Trinity, the King of Kings,
the great “I Am.”
His Word thus spoken, thoughts awoken
enough to open eyes
from darkened days and broken hearts
to His glorious, star speckled skies.
While resting from this Passion storm
I hope and pray above,
that He forgives and gives us all
His full eternal love.
Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2023
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