My Jesus the Crucified

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They spit upon His meekness,
and struck Him in the face.
They swung their whips with hatred
and stripped Him in disgrace.
Deep worked the Roman anger
that tortured Him, a Jew.
Yet this His groaning contemplation:
“They know not what they do.”

Just few days away
When He rode an ass to town,
His people cheered “Hosanna,”
now they want Him crucified.
How deadly their hatred
and demonic jealousy.
They freed the bandit Barabbas;
to sentence Him, the Christ.
He hung outside their city,
where all Rabbi mocked Him too;
Yet with this hurt, He whispered:
“I’ll give my life for you.”

No angels came to help Him
when He cried “why forget me, El?”
He called on God the Father
but heaven too, was in pain.
The Devil tried to reach Him
Through every lie in hell.
He mocked and made the victory sign,
Lucifer the soon to lose.
Unthinkable the anguish
God Father crushed the Son.
In pain He whispered a firm conviction:
“Thy will, not mine, be done.”

No selfishness, no hatred,
No spitefulness was there,
like the bitter twin criminals
that stood like fallen cherubs
by his right and left.
There stood His darling mother
drenched in her virgin tears.
One sinful thought; one failure,
And Love would not succeed.
But for your sake and mine, oh mankind
He bore the pain, the Lamb.

Had Jesus faltered even once,
In flames of hell would you and I abide.
I’m home alone, Calvary on replay,
Tears drop as I watch my Jesus die.
I wondered why the soldiers laugh
And why they mock, Jewish passersby.
Yet I’m assured, though darkness rules tonight
that hades and Lucifer’s just been crushed.
In hours time, come dear Sunday
this battered man of Calvary,
shall with a cloud of lights
up from the grave arise.