Saturday, April 2, 2016

3/20/16 Through 3/26/16

3/20/16 Through 3/26/16

When would the scribe and pharisee
Discern that this could truly be
This man of truth that never lied
The Son of God, they crucified?

A psalm that they had often heard
From on the cross that spoken word
A pagan, only recognized
The one, that on the cross had died.

A costly oil, the fragrance of
Reveals the presence of true love
The One whose presence now and hence
Is worthy of extravagance.

Somehow we know the time draws near
Bewilderment and sense of fear
He says that one will turn away
And choose the Master to betray.

Now His words seem plain as day
But then they only brought dismay.
No one would think the Rock He named
Denying Him, would be defamed.

The spectacle that they would see
Expressed the harsh reality
When all our selfish sins of pride
Became our Christ, the Crucified.

Betrayal comes in small amounts
So small we never keep accounts
It grows when we, our guilt deny
And makes us shout to crucify.

Conforming to the Master's plan
I must now serve my fellow man
To love in ways real and concrete
And humbly learn to wash their feet.

No mind can comprehend the pain
It took to win eternal gain.
In part, our fathers understood
That's why they call this Friday Good!

Yesterday the Master died
Beaten, scourged, and crucified.
Mocked and spit upon by men
The sun was even darkened then.

What now for me who thrice denied
The Son of God before He died?
Shame and sorrow fill the day
How will I ever find my way?

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