On a wooden cross they nailed Him, a crown of thorns they made in jest. From a precious few came wailing, cheers came from the rest.
He hung between two criminals, a sign above his head. “King of the Jews,” the mocking letters read.
His gaze, dare you meet it, would root you to the ground. Void was it of bitterness, no anger could be found.
He asked for drink to quench His thirst, vinegar he received. Then he lifted his voice to heaven and spoke words I found hard to believe.
Amidst the pain and sorrow He asked forgiveness for his foes. I couldn’t imagine how such love had survived the cruel, countless blows.
The Chief Priests shook within their skins; the grave had claimed this “King.” Missing was the relief his death was supposed to bring.
Three days lay Jesus in the tomb. Each day their tension eased. Surely the threat was over—victory had been seized.
I knew before I heard it! I felt it in the air. Mary had been to the tomb and Jesus wasn’t there!
As word spread fast and furiously and people ran to see, I opened my heart to Jesus, the man from Galilee.
~Blessings y’all, Shellie