An Easter Week Poem

     In the weeks leading up to Easter Sunday, I have been preaching on the cries of Jesus from the cross. Repeatedly I have been struck by how much He was in control, though He appeared to be under the control of the cross, the nails, and the torment of crucifixion. In His last words from the cross, which I have been studying this week, He said, "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit..." (Luke 23:46). This statement is spoken by a Savior who controls His death, and is confident in it that His Father will not suffer Him to see corruption (Psalm 16:10, Acts 2:31), but will in fact receive His spirit, and then resurrect His body from the dead. Because He died like this for us as His people, we can die like this as well - confident that He is able to receive our spirits, and He will one day raise our mortal bodies from the dead. Amen.

     Here are a few lines I wrote in response to what my heart has seen this Easter week:

Behold this Savior, rejected yet reigning,

Dying while still His power sustaining,

Slain by foes who were yet fulfilling,

The sovereign plan of eternal willing. 

Behold the King, dead but not doomed,

In another's grave His body entombed,

Stone and soldiers seal His room,

A place of death yet victory’s womb.

Behold the morning, early but breaking,

The earth reels from a sudden quaking,

The tomb is opened, gaping and bare,

The King is risen! He is not there.

A Baby

A baby, yes, like others born,

The dawning of another morn’,

A mother, yes, like ones before,

But in this birth there’s so much more,

Angels broke the veil to sing,

The arrival of a newborn King,

Shepherds left their flocks to see,

Salvation clothed in humility,

The pain - the joy of delivery,

The cry – the breath of eternity,

A couple looks through tears to view,

The infant who makes all things new,

This helpless baby, the hope of earth,

Nursed by the mother that gave Him birth,

Dependent on her He opens His eyes,

Dependent on Him she softly cries,

This child appears like all the others,

And yet He comes to save His brothers,

All others born to Adam’s race,

Now have a King to give them grace.

A baby, yes, like others born,

But on the first Christmas morn’,

Heaven came to dwell with men,

God came down to save from sin.