three days

Startled awake,
My shoulders shook,
By Peter’s desperate hand.
Oh, how could I,
Have slept tonight,
When He asked me to stand?

Judas has come,
Returned again,
But who has come along?
This crowd’s alarming,
Our sleep disarming,
It’s all terribly wrong.

Out of breath,
I stop and turn,
The crowd left far behind.
What’s happening?
My Lord, my King,
He let His hands be tied?

Now cautiously,
Now following,
I keep Him in my sight.
To the high priest,
Still unreleased,
Within the cloak of night.

They question Him,
He answers them,
They strike Him on His face.
My fists held tight,
I dare not fight,
But oh, they heap disgrace.

We start to leave,
I exit first,
And Peter stands nearby.
What did he say?
Too far away,
And now a rooster’s cry.

The dawn arrives,
The tumult swells,
I cannot see my Lord.
Then there He stands,
Still with bound hands,
With Pilate now before. 

 Again too far,
To hear their words,
But here the Roman shouts.
The crowd responds,
They want His bonds,
Letting Barabbas out.

Taken away,
I pray He’s led,
To safely guarded cells.
The crowd remains,
My spirit strains,
To know Jesus is well.

Again He comes,
I cry aloud,
As people shout and cheer.
His body torn,
A crown of thorns,
Yet still they taunt and jeer.

Through tears now,
I see Him there,
Drenched in His own blood.
“Crucify!”
The people cry,
With hatred like a flood.

Pushed and pulled,
Within this mob,
From my sight He’s lost.
Then tears fall,
As through this squall,
I see Him lift a cross.

Can this be true?
Can this be real?
Can this be happening?
Oh Jesus, how,
If You die now,
Will You become our king?

 I follow still,
The sorrow great,
But I will not give in.
He will be freed;
Again He’ll lead,
And be as He had been.

We reach the hill,
As Jesus does,
His cross upon the ground.
He staggers so,
They take His clothes,
And lay His body down.

I cannot watch,
But I can hear,
The screams of agony.
The pounding nails,
His hand impales,
Oh God, how can this be?

What has He done,
To merit this,
To warrant such torment?
My Jesus, oh,
Your power, show!
And all of this, prevent!

Nailed to the wood,
They raise it up,
And drop it in a hole.
The cross stands high,
A gruesome sight,
The blood forming a pool.

The hours pass,
He dangles there,
Each breath a tortured gasp.
I stand beneath,
Near to His feet,
How long will all this last?

A few more words,
A sponge-filled drink,
And desperately He cries.
I look to see,
And on that tree,
I saw that He had died.

Died? But how?
No, Jesus, no,
It cannot end this way.
I followed You,
You promised too,
You’d be with us always!

What is this, God?
What fatal trick?
Now that all hope is lost?
Messiah, how,
If He’s dead now?
And hanging on that cross?

I turn and run,
I cannot think,
My world falling apart.
The earth is quaking,
Thunder breaking,
Like my breaking heart.

We gather up,
Eleven now,
Confused and anguishing.
The night and day,
Both pass away,
And still we cannot see.

The miracles?
The forceful words?
The Truth within His eye?
How could “God’s Son,”
Be the wrong one?
Can it all be a lie?

We gave our all,
To follow Him,
We’d never turned around.
But everything,
We’d hoped to see,
Is buried with Him now.

We see no choice,
But to move on,
To realize our mistake.
But more than this,
I simply miss,
The friend I had embraced.

I miss His touch,
His loving words,
The way He understood.
He’s gone, I know,
Death lets none go,
But oh, I wish it would.

The dawn comes near,
The third day since,
The day that He passed on.
In runs Mary,
And breathlessly,
She says “The body’s gone!”

I run again,
Like I had run,
The night He was betrayed.
Reaching the tomb,
I see the room,
The empty place He’d laid.

Peter arrives,
And diving in,
He searches everywhere.
But Jesus now,
Cannot be found,
He’s been taken somewhere.

We turn back home,
Worried and scared,
Of what the Jews will do.
And wanting back,
The body that,
Must have been stolen too.

What now to do,
This change of things,
I hear somebody say,
“Didn’t He say,
On the third day,
He’d rise up from the grave?”

Stumbling back,
A ghost appears,
Directly amongst us.
Terror strikes,
I recognize,
The face of my Jesus.

“Peace be with you,”
He says aloud,
We all gasp audibly.
It is His voice,
Should we rejoice,
Or should we turn and flee?

He reaches out,
His hands outstretched,
Revealing ghastly holes.
Believe it’s real,
Is His appeal,
It’s done to save your souls.

Oh Jesus, now,
I know it’s You,
You are alive; it’s true!
The grave is conquered,
Death no longer,
Has a grip on You.

How can this be?
Can I believe,
You’re here before my eyes!
Jesus, my Lord,
My great reward,
You are the risen Christ.

You are alive!
You will be King,
But not of earthly parts.
I now can see,
You are the King,
That has redeemed our hearts.

That cross, my Lord,
That crown of thorns,
You bore that all for me?
Though I betrayed,
Your love remained,
There on cruel Calvary.

I have but one,
Desire now,
To give You everything.
Now my whole life,
Is for You, Christ,
My Savior, Love, and King.





written from Good Friday to Resurrection Sunday, from the point of view of "the disciple Jesus loved." for Jesus.