Two Sides To Every Story
Hatred roars like the crowd’s incantation,
all men adding their vicious citation:
“Away with you, I wanted a sign,
not a silent man, whispers of divine.”
“Away with you, I wanted no part;
I and me first, no justice to impart.”
“Away with you, we’re the majority;
we refuse to accept your authority.”
Grace thunders aloud with each heavy thud;
written through ages: the price is blood.
The sentence is fit, yet it’s not his own;
he stands in our place, he dies to atone.
Wrath is poured out for rebellious ones,
the Son bears it all to make God more sons;
cruel nails aren’t the bind that keeps him there,
but love inconceivable, beyond compare.
Ignorance jangles like the casting of dice,
no one discerning the real sacrifice.
“Just following orders, doing my job,
deal with the prisoner, control the mob.”
“Just undecided, not really too sure,
a prophet perhaps, I’d like to see more.”
“Just observing, don’t honestly care,
doubtless a vile sinner hanging up there.”
Mercy streams as he is lifted up high,
by weak men condemned, sentenced to die;
the pure Lamb of God, heckled and scorned,
only with mockery is he adorned.
The cross has been chosen, arms open wide,
bared to bridge the cataclysmic divide;
the watchers, dumbfounded, as the sun fails,
his beautiful life weighed in God’s scales.
Sarcasm drips like sour wine down the reed,
from those passing by as the three men bleed.
“Some conquering Messiah is this one,
dying in weakness, his time is all done.”
“Some display of kingly might and power
he's totally helpless in his last hour.”
“Some way to release this hostage nation
from its oppressive subjugation.”
Forgiveness floods down from heaven above,
showering man from the God who is love.
“It is finished!”: the victorious cry,
the Saviour, Jesus, bows his head to die.
The earth, astounded, shakes to its core,
releases the dead to breathe once more;
the curtain bursts open, the invite is clear:
the way to God has been won for you here.
By, Hannah Card.