Beneath a cross

Beneath a cross

I stand beneath a cross upon a hill,

And looking up into the eyes of God,

I feel the pain and hurt as time stands still.

The anguish of the Christ here suffering will

Succeed in making us the friends of God

Now hung upon this cross upon a hill.

Can we believe in Him who hangs until

We feel the cleansing of His pouring blood

And share His pain and hurt as time stands still;

Or will we yet again reject God’s will,

Ignoring what He’s promised, what He did,

And hang Him on this cross upon a hill?

Man lies and cheats and steals and has His fill

Of all dark things, rejecting what is good,

Ignoring pain and hurt as time stands still.

So does mankind forever tend to kill,

Rather than protect the things he should,

Whilst standing by a cross upon a hill,

Ignoring pain and hurt as time stands still.

Crucifixion

Good Friday

A wooden cross leads on to death.

There is no height, nor depth

Past which it will not reach;

For it will breach the very doors of death

Itself, and lead on to eternal life.

The eternal God cries out Himself

In manhood’s self gained agony.

There is no loss of life in death –

Not in this agonising final breath

Which He is breathing out for me.

This cross will bring us in the end

To a moment of eternity

Wherein the world, and all it is, will die.

Die? Yes! But then He’ll rise again

And reach divine hands out to me.

God grant that as I stand and watch

I’ll feel the hurt and know the pain.

Grant, in this moment, I might catch

A glimpse of where His suffering leads:

May I, through His death, new life gain.

Crucifixion

Crucifixion.

The day is dark and darker grows the night,

For night has come before the day has passed;

A mother dares to look on such a sight,

Her hanging, nailed son has breathed His last.

In front of her the tree is lonely, flanked

By others of the same, where they are ranked

Bearing the bodies of two condemned thieves.

They rant against their fate and taunt the Son.

One speaks in torment but there’s one believes

An innocent hangs here. What has He done?

[Into a timeless warp of space there hangs

Eternity and all eternal Love.

Of sorrow gone the solid silence sings

Casting torn veils to the heavens above.

He bleeds and dies, we weep and hopeless wait,

And wonder if this cross can be the gate?]

The soldiers wile away the weary wait

Beneath the cross by casting careless dice.

Their pay they risk but what about His fate?

They care not; let the judgement passed suffice.

Divide His clothes to augment their meagre pay,

But not the seamless robe – they let that stay.

To speed their death (for day soon breathes its last)

One checks and breaks the legs of the two thieves

But the blessed spirit now has sighed and passed;

Spear pierces flesh; the observing guard believes!

Reach down this battered body from the cross;

Reach down the bruised and rough torn flesh of God;

Reach down the Christ and, Mother, hold your loss:

And yet she knows this moment is for good.

Now all mankind breathless awaits first light,

The Easter sunrise banishing death’s dark night!

[Buried is the moment and the death

Of this expression of eternal love;

The sorrowing mother holds her final breath

And weeps her doloured tears to heaven above.

Now all must wait and waiting, all endure –

To wait and hope Love’s resurrection’s sure!]

None so blind

None so blind

When you were lying, bleeding, dying

Did I walk by in pride?

Did I avert my shameful eyes

And pass on the other side?

When you were hanged on a cross for me

Did I at the time deny?

Through blood filled eyes that could hardly see

You looked your question: Why?

And when at last they laid your head

In a tomb hid from earthly light,

Did I help roll the stone to bury the dead

Lest my conscience quake at the sight?

Then how can I ask you now to forgive

Whilst my guilt is a weight of shame?

Yet I know no more how I might live

Save in your holy name.

Via Crucis

Via Crucis

Weep now, my soul, for shortly comes the hour

When earth and heaven meet and die,

When creation’s blood is giv’n to pour

In answer to our last despairing cry.

Judge not, lest you are judged; but judged he is

And sentenced to a cruel death on wood,

Wood he must carry to a bitter hill

On which he’s nailed and fastened for our good.

Who greets him on his way or shares his grief?

Simon, Veronica, his mother, all are there.

Women mourn as it is their belief,

“Weep for yourselves,” he says, “your own despair.”

He falls but dragged upright he stays his course –

The soldiers will not let him die too soon.

Simon bears the wood, as soldiers force

Strong shoulders on this Friday afternoon.

He hangs three hours and sometimes speaks a word:

“Take this my mother, John and be her son.”

“Join me in paradise,” the good thief heard;

“I thirst,” he breathes then gasps and cries, “It’s done!”

His body hangs on this foul gibbet cross

Until it is allowed it shall be taken

To Mary, who, mourning her bitter loss

Yet knows the tortured world is not forsaken.

Of all of us, she lives and trusts in God,

Your father; she knows not quite how or when

But only that his hand fulfils the deed;

And that you’ll live and love and heal again.