I wrote this in my junior year of high school.
I could hear the whip hit His back countless times.
The blood was more than I could stand. As it stained His skin.
I could hear them laughing, cussing. Raging. Causing Him pain.
How they loved the sound of His suffering.
When the crown of thorns had been placed upon His brow
The thorns had pricked His precious skin.
The crimson blood stained His face and tears escaped.
I could hear the hammering of the nails…
It seemed it would not stop. The sounds were too much to bear.
My eyes could not leave the hammer that kept on moving.
The nail just kept on digging into His skin.
The agony was heavy as they hammered His feet to that tree.
Such suffering He endured.
I could feel the crowd grow restless. The air was thick with their angry screams.
A soldier came from the mob and spat on my Savior.
But from Jesus came no hate. His face only showed love.
"Why?" I thought to myself. " Why would Christ do this for me?"
Then my heart understood. I was a prisoner of my sin.
My Lord has purchased my freedom with amazing love.
As I finally recollect the price he had to pay.
With the words, "It is finished." He died upon that old tree.
I could not help my trembling as I saw Him. Lifeless.
Three days later I heard the talk around town. "Jesus had risen!"
My heart could not stop leaping as I stumbled through the crowd.
This same Jesus, rising in the clouds, would leave me with a promise.
He will come again.