Redemption’s Call (An Easter Poem)

…And then it came to pass
that my heart was rent and broken,
turmoil spilled the spoken word
with nail and sword they killed my Lord. free

The veil was torn
redemption born
the Lamb was made to bleed.
For He stepped in
relieved my sin
and we are free indeed.

As the cost explodes the night
no grave can hold Eternal’s light
For we’ve been bought –
from blind to sight
The God-man, love’s true might.

And here we are – a second chance
from sin’s cold grasp to love’s first glance
the choice is ours, redemption’s call
His blood can cleanse and heal us all.
…His love WILL heal and cleanse us all.



Looking At The Cross

I’m not here to proselytize,
no, we will never be moved from our positions and convictions by mere words.
9 times out of 10 most will never be “saved” by signs on billboards saying “Jesus Saves”
or by a “Preacher” on a soapbox with a bullhorn.
No, none of these things seem to penetrate the heart.
None of these things contributes to the glory of God…
it only adds to the noise.

pathIt’s a slow walk…
This path towards the cross.
The place where Jesus was killed was literally called the place of the skull because it looked like a skull cap.
It was never pretty.
Death. Is. Not. Pretty.
Even when the Son of God faced death…it was not pretty.

Death is brutal. death
Death has its claws into the sides of humanity and many learn to fear it.
Even Jesus prayed for the “cup to be taken from Him” while in the garden of Gethsemane, yet He was still faithful and He still went through with it.

BloodBlood was spilled.
People spat in His face.
A crown of thorns was forced upon Jesus’ head…
more blood was spilled.
The path that Jesus walked is called the ‘Via Dolorosa’ which means “the way of suffering” or “the way of sorrow”.
No, this was not, by its own a rite, a “glorious” day…and yet we look at the cross,
we explore His gruesome execution,
we peal back the “polished” veneer of the cross’ description,
and we discover just how much our Father in Heaven desires to rescue and redeem us from our sin tattered lives.

We linger here…
we must not overlook its importance and its horror.cross1
Divine carnage, blood, suffering, pain.
We ought not turn our eyes away too quickly in order to get to the “good stuff”… just yet.

Divine love was broken and spilled out for us.
His blood became our atonement.
His sacrifice our salvation.
His willingness our redemption.
Perhaps THIS, above all else, speaks louder than any of our “big” words could.
Perhaps THIS, the mark of suffering could capture the hardened heart.
nailsPerhaps THIS, is where healing can take place…
if only Christians would get this.
if only we would live this.
if only we would “take our crosses” (no really) and selflessly follow Him.
I’m not being preachy here,
I’m listening to the groaning of my own heart
and this truth rings out in me.

So I look at the cross…cross2                                                                              for a little bit longer.

On Grace and Good Friday…


On Grace:

Sometimes laughter is

the medicine best consumed

Removing any bitter pill

catching our fill of joy

hopefully by the bucket full

While we scratch and scrape to obliterate

The evidence of the empty


Other times there exists

this wish, this droaning desire

the brush fire of urgency

to unwind the vivid recall

that catches our fall

into this levity


we attempt,

we yearn to protect

this fragile sanity

casting shadows on the walls

of our iniquities

all the while struggling

refraining from peering

at that tree on Calvary


Could this be our undoing?

The unraveling of life’s

Guilt and selfishness

We have been pursuing this…

We the murder guilty

Hands crimson and stained..

Our eyes struggling to ignore it

Pulling our attention away

Yet discovering the end of our wit

Our wisdom, our inadequate understanding


Yet this heart,…

This shackled slave to self

 is crash landing

bailing out…expanding panic

I think I’ll be sick

As I find myself wading

Through my own filth

Which eclipses feeble strength

Within these tired hands

This vacant soul…

Hallowed and emptied out

I have lost control

Shattered, bits and pieces

Sharp and jagged

Course as no longer whole


And glancing once more

Rugged cross in view

Life’s blood is spilt

Redemption, salvation, new life

Comes Crashing through…yet I will not

Comprehend it… just yet

No, not yet…

For hell has to relinquish

Diminish in the world…in me…

Then three days  

Three gut wrenching, tear bursting

Sleep fleeting days…

To grave side

Torn pride, without guide

I will make my way

To mourn, to break again

But only then…only then

Will I meet nail shattered hands

Light from the cave of death

I will catch my breath,

I will catch His grace

And from His lips I will

Hear I love you, this…

This…was all for you.


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