how sweet the sound
that saved a wretch like me
i once was lost
but now am found
but now i see
face twisted in agony. pain wracking his every nerve, muscle, rendering him helpless. almost numb. pain? what pain? oh, there it is.
his skin is smooth again. but he's tied to something. unable to move. an arm raises a whip. it has hooks on it. strike. pain! strike. pain! every strike took flesh off his back. blood mixed with sweat pours. he cries out. again. and again and again.
the cross is so heavy. he is fatigued and in pain. lots of pain. nevertheless, he carries on. the crowd jeers at him. the crown of thorns on his head is piercing him everytime he turns. tears stream down his face. are these people - these laughing faces, laughing at his pain - are they really worth dying for? a voice says, "yes." so he carries on.
a foot long nail is being driven into his palm. the guards bring the hammer down on it. wham! he winces. there's not much else he can do. so he winces and cries with every blow, pushing the nail deeper into his hand. the guards push the cross up. breathing becomes a chore. he is only being held up by the hand. his weight drags him down. the pain is intense, but he no longer feels it.
"father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing."
he breathes his last. his head hangs. the ordeal is over.
all for us.
so are we worth it? are we worth the blood he was drained of, the tears he shed, the pain he endured? the answer is no. we're not worth it. not a single drop of his blood. yet he died for us.
why do you cry? why do you cry when you see those scenes? he knew it was coming. he gladly did his father's will. he was ready for it. don't cry.
and i'll never know how much it cost
to see my sins upon that cross.
"did it hurt?"
"oohhh yeah. it hurt."
"it sure looked like it did. why'd you do it?"
"simply because i love you. and everyvody else. its sounds kind of stupid, i know. like a dire romantic notion. but its nothing like that. simply because i love you. there's nothing more to it."
"oh. but why? we're no use."
"who says so?"
"then you are of use."
"well, if you say so then. did you think of me?"
"of course i did."
"but you had to think of everybody else too. how did you manage to fit me in there? there are like, a gazillion other people to think of."
"i know. i'll tell you when i see you, okay?"
"when will that be?"
"okay. can i see your scars then? the ones on your hands and feet?"
its a question i constantly ask. how did he manage to think of me too? i mean, there are ALOT of others to think of, others even more important than i am. and everyone keeps telling me he died specially for me. how? he can't have died especially for me. then he'd have to die a billion times over. and over. and over again. maybe he did. in his heart, maybe he died again. or maybe during the time he was dying, he thought of everybody and i was on his mind at one point. maybe it was just a fleeting moment. but if i'm worthy enough to be thought of, then i'm good enough. i think so anyway.
thank you, Jesus.