Breathing heavily, His legs moving, wearily
His enemies brought Him to the embassy.
They were driven by enmity, their hearts full of jealousy.
…They were known as the Pharisees.
And with a fellow’s conspiracy,
they plotted to finish his ministry.
Accused with blasphemy, then charged with treachery;
sentenced to a sinner’s penalty, despite committing no such felony.
Roman soldiers with whips carved his back, violently.
Robe of scarlet, crown of thorns, made Him a mockery.
Bending their knees and bestowing Him a reed, they laughed merrily,
thought it funny to make His majesty a parody.
Scorned and scoffed, He carried the cross to Calvary.
Nailed arms and legs; He was in agony.
Clothes stripped, laid bare for all the crowd to see.
“Crucify! Crucify!” Spoken by countless sand along the sea.
Chief Priest, scribes, and Elders now high on ecstasy
proclaiming, “You are not our king. Naked, you have no identity.”
His legs can’t move, they’re hammered down, inflexibly.
Suddenly suffocating, now breathing, breathlessly.
His skin pales white as if He has leprosy.
Then the sky turns black, as if it was ebony.
He cries to His Heavenly Father, desperately,
asking, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
But He heard silence, felt fury, no sympathy.
Finally, He died; it is finished. A tragedy.
What a public humiliation…or… perhaps was it personal humility.
For somehow, someway, Christ died with dignity.
But wait, hold up, I mean this isn’t the end of the story, right?
Three days later Jesus from Galilee
defied more than just gravity.
He rose from the grave, defeating fatality!
Stone rolled, now robed in all authority.
Yet, in His hands remained the holes; the sting of death’s weaponry.
His blood poured out so we can obtain the whole remedy.
His beauty to be behold, now sitting enthroned for all eternity
The worm trampled under His heel and soul:
this is Christ’s victory.