Sunday, March 31, 2013

Ressurection Day

Today is Resurrection Day and as we rejoice in the Lord, let us thank Him for what He did for us in His death and resurrection.

"And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away: for it was very great.  And entering into the sepulchre, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed in a long white garment; and they were affrighted.  And he saith unto them, Be not affrighted: Ye seek Jesus of Nazareth, which was crucified: he is risen; he is not here: behold the place where they laid him."
~Matthew 16:4-6


HE IS RISEN!!!!!!!!!

I wanted to share a poem I had written quite a few years ago (I typed it up for the first time yesterday and added a few little edits.) 

Forgiven!
By: Bethany Strang

“Crucify Him!  Crucify Him!”  The hateful screams began to grow.
“This man has blasphemed God!  To the cross He will go.”
As the ranting, raving crowd began to pull apart,
I saw a terrible scene that gripped my very heart.
There a man stood quietly with head bowed to the ground.
I saw Him whipped and beaten, but heard Him make no sound.
Then came soldiers, and with a royal robe they clothed Him.
To add to this they brought a crown with thorns, sharp and thin.
I gasped as I watched the soldiers press it in His head.
The thorns pierced in deeper and the blood poured out dark red.
The soldiers laughed and mocked Him, “No!” Cried I.  “How could you?”
But with wretched glee they screamed, “Hail!  King of the Jews!”
They spit into His loving face.  They ripped His beard completely out.
But the crowd scoffed and said, “So this is what that Jesus is all about.”
The Roman soldiers blindfolded Him and began to smack His face.
Calling out so loudly, “Who was it that hit you in the face?”
But Jesus made no outcry, instead He was silent.
I took this all in with wonder, still not knowing quite what it meant.
“Stand up you wicked prisoner!” The soldier began to rave.
“To the cross you are going, as the worst of these three knaves.”
Jesus stood in agony, but stumbled to the ground.
The soldier then just beat Him, with jeering crowd around.
“You Jew, get up!  You’re the Messiah, aren’t you?”
“Don’t stumble on the ground, you have a cross to go to.”
But now my heart was breaking and the tears began to flow.
How long I had been standing there, I simply did not know.
“How can you be so wickedly cruel to one poor man as that?”
I cried out to the Roman soldiers, weeping as I sat.
One turned around, muscular and tall.
He looked at me and said, “He’s a criminal, that’s all.
A criminal condemned to die,
And now His death is drawing nigh.”
The soldier turned and walked away,
Kicking Jesus where He lay.
“Move!  Stand up now.  On your feet!”
Jesus stood, but my gaze did He meet.
I froze.  Everything around disappearing away.
That solid gaze just seemed to say,
“I’m doing this because I love you, to save you from your sins,
So that in the Lamb’s book of life, your name will be written in.
But not just for you,
It’s for the soldiers and crowd too.”
“The soldiers and the crowd?” I thought.
“They hate Him!  Do they not?”
“Of course they hate Him,” I angrily spat out.
Looking at the twisted faces and sneering eyes all about.
But then I saw the soldiers, and with them a cross of wood.
Dragging it over to Jesus, they did with it what they would.
The cross they places upon His back.
Even though the strength He lacked.
Stop!  The burden is too much for Him!
But no, what did it matter to them?
For the moment the cross was in place,
To Golgotha did they set their face.
But while they were walking, Jesus began to slow.
Until in agony He stopped.  Not one more step could He go.
“He can not go on,” a man with sympathy said.
“He’s too weak, too wounded.  Why, He’s almost half-dead.”
“Ha!  Scoffed a soldier.  “Then you take His cross of doom!
Perhaps when He’s dead and buried, He’ll thank you from His tomb.”
The man whose name was Simon, walked over to where Jesus lay.
He gently took the cross, to put on his own shoulders right away.
But all too soon we were there, at the place of Calvary.
The place to kill this innocent Man—it’s murder!  Oh, don’t you see?
Now in horror did I watch this scene unfold before my eyes.
Two thieves and Jesus are led forward to their cross where it lies.
But first Jesus is stripped from His clothes to His dishonor and shame.
Then the Roman soldiers turned to the guilty thieves and did just the same.
So in humiliation on their crosses where they laid,
But to Jesus, the innocent, was there given no aid.
And now in horror I see a soldier with a hammer and some nails,
Fastening Jesus’ hands and feet to that cross.  My heart begins to wail.
Again and again the hammer on the nail did pound.
Echoing my heartbeat as it vibrated through the ground.
I watched as Jesus who was silent, who never yelled out a jeer,
Bear this awful sentence, as through His body, pain did sear.
The crosses were raised up high for all who stood to see.
The guiltless One made guilty.  How could this be?
Nevertheless they mocked Him more and more,
Laughing at His brokenness so torn and sore.
But in His pain-filled eyes are love and forgiveness unwavering.
Taking sin upon His sinless self, oh what a marvelous thing.
Then suddenly Jesus cried out, “My God, my God!  Why have you forsaken me?”
He hung, bleeding and broken and mocked, humiliated on that tree.
Then Jesus cried, “Father forgive them for they know not what they do.”
Guilt pricked my heart, as His convicting eyes seemed to bore me through.
Immediately in wild realization, away did I flee.
Knowing I had crucified Him.  Yes, it was me.
For because of my sin,
I had whipped Him.
Crushed the thorns into His head.  Spit into His loving face.
Beat Him, mocked Him.  Nailed His hands and feet into place.
Suddenly in wild terror I began to run away.
Not knowing what to do, just wishing I hadn’t seen this day.
But as I turned away, my eye caught that terrible scene.
And I remembered Jesus’ gaze, what it said and what it means.
Then abruptly I turned around and walked back to that cross.
Kneeling before Jesus Christ, whose life my sin did cost.
I whispered, “Father, I’m sorry.  Save me from my filthy sin.”
Jesus looked at me and said, “My blood has paid your price.  Child, you’re forgiven.”
“It is finished!”  He cried.
His head fell forward and He died.
On this day, God poured out His wrath on His only Son.
Christ paid our price with His blood.  It’s finished.  It’s done.
The Sinless became sin for us and God, in his holiness, turned away.
His death will give us life.  Through Him we can be saved.
Death will not have dominion over me!  I’m set free from my sin!
I am washed clean in His blood.  I am forgiven.
I slowly rose in thankfulness, for the price that He had paid.
I couldn’t fathom His love.  I’m so baffled, so amazed.
But now I look to you, my friend, are your sins washed away?
If not, confess them to Jesus, for He alone is the way.

Posted By:
~Bethany

2 comments:

Cheyne said...

Love your poem, Bethany! I love to write poetry, too, but am very particular in my tastes as to what others write... yours was beautiful!

Shelbi said...

Very nice poem Bethany! Great job!