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.