Indeed, it is here now; the time has arrived,
They will be scattered and He will be deprived.
His return to shared glory will look like a loss,
But the path to redemption will stand on a cross.
Three times the garden grows tears within His prayers,
Three times they keep sleeping among dreams unaware.
Soon three times denial will come to the light,
And three wooden crosses will rise into the sky.
He stands at the ready when armed men appear,
And with a kiss from the traitor—betrayal is here.
Fulfillment of arrest, no battle granted within,
But reprimands handed to the sharp ears of His men.
A trial without hearings, no one understands,
His accusers oblivious to His name, Son of Man.
Annas to Caiaphas and Sanhedrin to Pilate,
The blame shifts in power, but His defense is silent.
A handoff to Herod tossed back to Pilate’s house,
Three offered releases refused by the crowd,
So Pilate washes his hands and Jesus is bound,
As Pilate trades a prisoner and a soul for a crown.
The guilt of the traitor begs for reversal,
But hypocrites balk, this is not a rehearsal.
The payment of death thrown at scandalous feet,
And guilt drives betrayal to hang from potter’s tree.
Barabbas is chosen for the freedom of guilt,
And on orders from Pilate blood begins to be spilled.
A whip served with laughter and a crown full of thorns,
The soldiers played dress up, Jesus now purple-adorned.
“Hail, King of the Jews!” they mock and they spit,
They make fun with worship and they slap and they hit.
They walk out before Him, as messenger carries behind,
And they parade their own Savior before His own mother’s eyes.
A hidden dedication of sadness follows His direction,
Straight to the place where sin will have no protection.
A lamb without warrior walks among hearts wrapped in stone,
As he enters the designation of His final call home.
There was no fair trial and no crime He committed,
But He is nailed to a criminal’s cross, not acquitted.
The jury of unequal peers condemn, no evidence clear.
Convicting a man to death based only on fear.
The Son of few words refuses drink for the pain,
Only watches them hate Him, mocking His name.
They meant it for harm, but God’s plans were different,
Even there on the cross, Jesus offers the wonder of forgiveness.
“Yeah right, you’re the King!” as they laugh and they tease,
“Then you should be able to come down with ease!”
But He hangs nailed on that cross, to change all of our stories,
From a watching soldier to dear Mary, they witness the glory.
“You claimed you would rebuild a temple in just three days?”
“Where are your tools now for this building you’ll raise?”
The crowd unites in the killing and throws dice for His clothing,
While He directs His disciple and mom to keep going.
A high noon eclipse of darkness gets their attention,
Still no awareness they are witnessing redemption.
Leaders worry of optics as Passover clocks count down,
And they send the request, “break their legs” to the crown.
At the place of the skull, Golgatha’s 3 p.m. strikes,
“My God, my God,” they hear the innocent cry.
Sour wine now accepted through the blood of His lips,
“It is finished” now uttered by Jesus of Nazareth.
Mother and brothers cry out at the crime,
As the Son of Man saves the world, takes His last breath, and dies.
The ground shakes in terror and the veil tears in two,
Eyes begin opening with regret nailed to truth.
The cemetery opens as one soldier kneels,
And spirits release with the strike of the heel.
“This man was truly the Son of God!” now one declares,
Broken by loss, some realize they cared.
The order obeyed to speed up death arrives,
Criminals first, Sabbath needs no one alive.
But for Jesus their mallet arrives just too late,
No bones will be broken, but spear confirms fate.
They had murdered the innocent and slaughtered the Way,
Knowing now not He, but they, committed atrocities that day.
His skeleton of followers stood numb, heartbroken, and lost,
They had just watched their teacher pay the ultimate cost.
To be continued . . .
