The Cross
We talk about the Cross as if
It’s a thing that happened once
Upon a time – a long, long time ago.
“He died for us” – we say
As if some distant relative
Sacrificed, but the memory is dim.
We talk about the Cross like it’s
A thing we take for granted.
Of course, that’s the way
It must have been –
That God would die
For you and I,
We let it settle in our minds
Till it’s as true
As the sky above is blue.
But what if it had not been?
What if He had seen the Tree
And turned back?
What if He had sweated blood,
Laid down and said –
That’s enough!
Called the millions of angels
Armed at His disposal?
And said –
One of you take a turn,
They’re not worth it.
But He didn’t.
He couldn’t.
His love for the Father wouldn’t
Let Him back down.
His love for the helpless, His ache for the lost
Wouldn’t let Him turn around.
So, on He went.
Weak and Bleeding
Bruised heart beating
Knowing soon that it would be His last.
So I’ll cling to the Old Rugged Cross.
No… I’ll cling to the feet
of the One who hung upon it.
For the price He paid?
The love He gave?
It not only sets me free…
It puts air in my lungs
To breathe again.
And for He who stands outside of time –
Mustn’t the Cross always be?
Not a thing that happened,
A moment in time –
But the very essence of who He is,
The definition of His heart,
His character,
His Fight for you and me.