These were poems I wrote to accompany the songs the Christ UMC Choir sang at the Good Friday Worship. Each piece ends with the name of the corresponding song.
Israel chose the calf, put their faith in gold.
Then later chose human kings, despite the warning Yahweh had foretold
The Pharisees and Leaders chose to keep their power and place.
The People chose and shouted, crucify, Crucify, CRUCIFY Grace.
Jesus also was given freedom and choice,
to see the mission through, or give into his fear and inner voice.
Jesus stayed, his fate sealed by the kiss of a spy.
Jesus chose the nails “He Chose to Die.”
If only they would listen, allow me them to love. Then they would not suffer, in peace they could live, as we above.
I feel their pain, as I wear their stain. I take their sin as my life they rend.
I hear in their shouts, the pain in their jeers. It is for them I weep, for them they see “The Son of God in Tears.
What God had created in Glory, perfect in beauty, function and form, humanity had corrupted, through sin, perfection torn.
Now as they killed the Creator, the Son, the Word, creation unleashed its grief, its fury it unfurled.
The failure of the stewards, their covenant again not keeping, today, with this ultimate betrayal, “Even the Heavens Are Weeping.”
He had gathered a following from his years in the field. Sinners, taxmen, those of the night, the ones in whom his power wields.
But now to the City he had come to spread calm, riding a donkey to the wave of a palm.
Some still foolish in their praise they did raise, though the ministers and masters he failed to amaze.
They did conspire with the hated from Rome. They sold it, his death, to preserve their home.
They worked their magic, and with their power they swayed, the people conceded, and on cue they obeyed.
And the Love, the Glory, the Grace was undone, as they tortured and crucified “The Carpenter’s Son.”
They only way to convey such love, and get his redeeming peace across,
was send the perfect loving Son, to die “Upon A Sinner’s Cross.”
“Tree of Sorrow”
His hands were used to the feel of the wood,
hands now splintered, nailed to the cross that stood.
He from the tree rendered his livelihood at home.
Now he hangs on the tree, as fear and jealousy partnered with Rome.
Though he felt the nails through his feet and his hands, and it was his life drained with the blood to the sand.
We are the ones who had no hope for tomorrow, were it not for our righteous Savior, who suffered on the “Tree of Sorrow.”
It is over, as the nails are driven, yet over that noise we hear we are forgiven.
Forsaken, forgotten, it is finished, yet His love, His grace is still undiminished.
Hear the nails that push through flesh to the wood, for our sake and eternity, on this Friday Good.
We whine, we complain, even after his pain. We are forgiven though we fail, hear the nails, feel the nails.
We are forgiven though we fail, “Hear the Nails, Hear the Nails.