Jesus (written by Sarah Bennett)
Someone once asked if Jesus died from a bullet.
They knew nothing of a cross, of the torture that lasted hour upon hour.
They knew nothing of the cost or the blood of the Lamb.
They thought He died in a second,
Not knowing He was born to be sacrificed.
Imagine being crucified
When you did not deserve it,
For the salvation of those
Who do not know you suffered the worst death of all
For the lives of all.
I cannot romanticise the holes in Your hands
Where they nailed You to that cross.
Jesus, You were sweating blood
And that is not a metaphor
And I could not make it one even if I wanted to,
Even if I knew what it was like.
You did not die from a bullet.
You were not shot in a single moment.
You were tortured.
And You are perfect,
So during that time You did not sin,
You did not hate those who wanted death more than life.
You forgave them and gave them a gift
And gave us a gift.
And I am still trying to figure out how to accept this salvation that I do not deserve,
Not when I mocked You
Pretended not to know You.
Not when I nailed You to that cross
Then turned around and asked why You did not bless me that day,
That day when You were in darkness,
When darkness thought he had won,
When You had not yet overcome the grave,
When darkness was rejoicing,
Not knowing of Your victory to come.