Pascha (Easter)

Pascha (Easter)

Wanton soldiers
mock and crown a king,
thorns make for a bloody diadem.
Royal robes entwined with raw flesh,
whipping…
ripping…
shredding…
forcing a broken man to his knees,
look upon the scarlet pulp that once,
felt my touch…
loved my embrace.

Who is this monster before me
stumbling on the cobblestone?
Look at this mob, look at this man,
he faints…
he drops…
he rises!
What a bloody nuisance…

Can’t he see I’m a busy man?

Desperate darkness, light twists away.
Nails penetrating,
rusting,
he hangs…alone.
Raindrops diluting…
a crimson tide
hurries down a splintered post
into a sea of humanity,
watching…
waiting…
dying.

What does he care for me?

Thunder claps over the angry clouds,
arms held open…wide
embracing…
erasing…
A gory headdress, thy sacred crown,
see how it glistens
wet…
red…
life…running down,
like a river
falling from pure chasms.
Swirling,
twirling around the muddied ground…
the refuse…
the dug…
the underpinnings of thy cross,
thy suffering
thy passion.

Are you telling me something?

Soldiers gamble,
a mother cries,
the Father…turns away
my…God,
my God…
why?
Sour vinegar
seize thy tender lips.
Moments turn to hours,
despair…
anguish…
desolation…
darkness hath no grace.
His heart broken…
he slumps.
A spear pierces thy side,
and into hell he slides.

Did you really have to die for me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a whirl of madness,
blind for all to see.
I could not deem the grace,
hanging upon that tree.
The one who laid it on the line,
and died for someone like me.
And though he surely descended,
he rose the third day…wholly free.

~ Dave Carter

Who has believed our message?
To whom will the Lord reveal his saving power?
My servant grew up in the Lord’s presence like a tender green shoot,
sprouting from a root in dry and sterile ground.
There was nothing beautiful or majestic about his appearance,
nothing to attract us to him.
He was despised and rejected—a man of sorrows,
acquainted with bitterest grief.
We turned our backs on him
and looked the other way when he went by.
He was despised, and we did not care.
Yet it was our weaknesses he carried;
it was our sorrows that weighed him down.
And we thought his troubles were a punishment from God for his own sins!
But he was wounded and crushed for our sins.
He was beaten that we might have peace.
He was whipped, and we were healed!
All of us have strayed away like sheep.
We have left God’s paths to follow our own.
Yet the Lord laid on him the guilt and sins of us all.
He was oppressed and treated harshly,
yet he never said a word.
He was led as a lamb to the slaughter.
And as a sheep is silent before the shearers,
he did not open his mouth.
From prison and trial they led him away to his death.
But who among the people realized that he was dying for their sins—
that he was suffering their punishment?
He had done no wrong,
and he never deceived anyone.
But he was buried like a criminal;
he was put in a rich man’s grave.
But it was the Lord’s good plan to crush him
and fill him with grief.
Yet when his life is made an offering for sin,
he will have a multitude of children, many heirs.
He will enjoy a long life,
and the Lord’s plan will prosper in his hands.
When he sees all that is accomplished by his anguish,
he will be satisfied.
And because of what he has experienced,
my righteous servant will make it possible for many to be counted righteous,
for he will bear all their sins.

Isaiah 53

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Pascha (Easter)

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