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Stuff From Sermons
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"The Cross" -- Poem read on Easter Sunday, written by Tom Lawson
The Garden
The garden lay still in the pale moonlight,
As there, a man, his very soul did fight.
The pain! The pain! Too much to bear,
As Satan pulled tighter yet his wretched snare.
The God of all creation lay his face in the dirt,
And wept till all his being did hurt.
Thinking of the twelve he had trained for so long,
He wept afresh for him that would not belong.
He thought of his mother so tender and dear,
And saw the torment for her now so near.
He thought of his body hanging tortured in the sky,
And the evil men gawking and watching him die;
He even felt the nails going into the tree.
“Father,” he cried, “Take this cup from me!!”
Then his eyes looked out upon lost mankind,
And son said to father, “Not my will, but thine.”
Then he arose, trembling, to his feet,
And went with firm heart, his fate now to meet.
“Peter, must you sleep, my friend so bold,
As I have even now for silver been sold?
And James, would you, too, leave me alone,
If you only know that you’d be the first to come home.
And John, your task so hard, for one so young.
But arise, my brother, the hour has come!”
And the three jumped up at the sound so loud,
And, suddenly, they were confronted with the angry crowd.
And a man walked up to Jesus face to face,
And said, “Hello, Master,” as him he embraced;
But stopped cold and shaking, as one caught in lies,
As he looked into those deep tearfilled eyes.
Yet Judas looked upon his victim so meek,
And, with trembling lips, did kiss his cheek,
And turned around with his head held high
To find a tree on which to die.
The soldiers, moving upon him as Judas had led,
Left Jesus alone as the other all fled.
He was silent as they walked through the streets that night,
And the soldiers were whispering, “Why doesn’t he fight?
And how can he look so kingly and tall,
When he’s going to his trial deserted by all?
And what manner of man is this?
Left by his friends, betrayed with a kiss,
And yet he still seems, somehow, to have the upper hand.
Who is this Jesus? What manner of man?”
The Trial
“Jesus! Who are you!” Caiaphas screamed!
And the angry council at Jesus gleamed!
And all the men’s shouting became a great roar!
But the carpenter’s son merely stared at the floor.
“You are accused by us of blasphemy!!
IN THE NAME OF GOD, WHO MIGHT YOU BE?!!”
And suddenly in the room nothing stirred,
But Jesus still stared, and spoke not a word.
“Are you stupid, or deaf, or dense?!”
Then the high priest’s voice became quiet and tense.
“Are you the Messiah? The Son of Man?”
Jesus calmly looked up and “I am.”
“We have no need accusers to see!!!
You heard it my brother, blasphemy!!!
What is your verdict for such a lie?”
And that hour they decided that he would die.
And outside, Peter his weakness showed.
As after three lies, a cock had crowed;
And he ran, weeping, into the dark,
To find a place to search his own heart.
The council moved upon Jesus like men insane,
For hate in them was a roaring flame!
They covered his head with a mask.
“Who struck you, prophet??” they would ask.
It was until dawn that they kept up their “games”,
Then they led him to Pilate, bound up in chains.
Before the governor the Nazarene was placed,
And Pilate walked the floor and paced.
“What do you want me to do with him?
In this man I find no sin.
The poor beaten preacher has no fault,
Other than in the council’s hate to be caught.”
The custom was to release a prisoner every year;
But the mob chose Barabbas with a cheer,
And when Pilate asked, “With Jesus what do I?”
The chant began - “Crucify! Crucify!”
“But what wrong has he?!” Pilate did cry!
But nothing was heard over “Crucify! CRUCIFY!”
So Pilate called for water to be brought in a basin,
And then washed his hands of the whole situation.
The soldiers moved upon Jesus uncontrolled,
And they clothed him in a purple robe,
Put a crown of thorns upon his head!!
“Hail, King of the Jews!” some mockingly said.
The beauty of that Friday morning was lost,
In the sight of that beaten man carrying his cross.
And the crowd, they all mocked and jeered,
At this man, who was with his own blood smeared.
But he carried that great slab of wood, all the same,
Though his body was broken, and racked with pain,
Until, because of pain, his legs began to fold,
And the soldiers forced a stranger to help bear the load.
And when they had finally reached the crest,
The crowd all ceased to mock and jest;
And they watched as the Romans took this man,
And centered the great iron nail over his hand.
With a slam, Jesus’ whole body wrenched with pain!
Then with the other hand they did the same.
Then the feet were pierced, with expert “care”,
And they struggled to raise him up in the air.
And Jesus made only the slightest sound,
As the great wooden cross fell into the ground.
And there, suspended between earth and space,
Hung the epitome of God’s love and grace.
And, though the torture each increasing moment grew,
He gasped, “Father, forgive them, they don’t know what they do.”
Then, the pain that no mortal will ever comprehend!
His Father, God, and Master was separated from him!
As the sins of all mankind did rest upon the tree!!
“MY GOD! MY GOD! WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME!”
His mockers, the greatest truth they gave!
“Others, yes, but himself he will not save!”
This was for the sins of all that live;
It was to this, that he his life did give.
Then he looked out upon his world and sighed,
And the son of life itself finally died.
The Beginning
But all the power of hell and gloom,
Could not keep God’s Christ in a tomb!!
And throughout all creation the echo still rolls!
He arose! He Arose! HE AROSE!
Tom Lawson
Copyright 1973
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