Jesus: God’s Perfect Lamb

 

 

 

Since Easter 2006 much in our lives has changed. During those nineteen years our daughter and our son  have  graduated from high school and college,  Both have married, and our daughter and son-in-law have  presented  us with a wonderful red-haired grandchild. Also, since then Becky and I have finished our service in Nigeria when we relocated north to Niger before we finally retired from missionary service and moved back to the U.S. Yes, circumstances have obviously changed. Yet, in reality, our lives remain substantially unchanged. We continue to love and serve our Savior, who has wondrously saved us and called us and allowed us to serve and worship Him. We still worship our God who continues to fulfill His Eternal Gospel Plan through the power of of the Holy Spirit, living and guiding us, giving us the opportunity to share His Gospel in a loving, growing, worshipping and witnessing Church. So, as another Easter comes marching in with the great Good News that Jesus is risen, I look back on all He has done to save us, to redeem us and to share with us perfect joy, perfect peace and perfect Love. Even after nineteen years, I still proclaim “Jesus Is God’s Lamb!” The poems below still speak to me as I hope they will speak to you during this Holy Week when we remember again how dearly Jesus paid for our sins on the Cross. Our lives have been made gloriously new and free and purposeful in serving and worshipping Him. That beautiful Truth makes all things new because of not only Jesus’ death, but also because of His resurrection. So, I  also add to these older poems a new one, my words  of praise since we serve a risen Savior: “The Birds And The Flowers Encourage Us: Rejoice!“ After all, Easter is all about this truth: “He is risen! He is risen, indeed! Hallelujah! Praise the Lord! Amen!”

First imagine a young boy for the first time loving so much the perfect lamb he helped to choose for the Passover. Then realize how torn this boy’s heart would be when he realized what price their lamb must pay. Imagine how this boy’s father would also feel about the sacrifice of their very own perfect lamb. Imagine now how you are standing just some small distance away from the cross watching closely the awful events of that Good Friday. Imagine looking upon our blessed Lord Jesus suffering there before you, beginning with His feet and slowly shifting your eyes all the way up to His ghastly crown. You might express your feelings something like this:

 

Jesus Is God’s Lamb
Easter, 2006

It Was A Lamb

It was a lamb
he loved—this boy,
chasing, laughing
under fresh, blue
skies—this lamb
this boy’s delight—a
partner for his play.

It was a lamb
he sought—a boy
choosing, hugging
to his heart
obedient
yet troubled, wholly
perfect innocence.

It was their lamb
he knew—this man,
this boy’s father—
illustrating among multitudes
sin’s terrible price
demanding death—
God’s awesome plan.

Jesus is the Lamb
I know—“God’s son!”
living, breathing,
truth burning bight
In the darkest night,
self-surrendered Light—
Love’s work must dawn.

 

His Feet

His bleeding pierced feet
bear His awesome weight
tortured by His burden,
every breath He gasps
stretching on the spike
which pins Him to a cross.

His feet so soiled with mud
Jerusalem’s dirt and blood,
our Lord and Savior, Servant
who washed our dusty feet—
Mary washed His with her tears
and wiped them with her hair.

His feet which touched the earth
bear scars, His humble birth,
Who trod our tiresome roads,
Who walked upon the waves
Who struggles for us all,
bears all our sins away.

His Knees

I close my eyes and see
Him down upon His knees,
under Heaven He pleads
so anguished that He bleeds,
the sin that fills His cup,
tastes like bitterest dregs.

His knees are rough with scars,
they’ve borne Him kneeling hours
upon some mountain side
praying to His Father
though now His head is bowed—
where is Heaven’s power?

The flesh upon His knees
like His battered body bleed,
they’ve borne a flagellum’s cruel strokes
which have torn Him all apart—
even off that tree He
could not now bow upon His knees.

His Hands

I’ve seen His hands touch softly
a child upon his knee,
those hands which touched a leper
and helped a blind man see—
which fashioned for His mother
sturdy, well-built furniture.

A man’s hands large and strong
with fingers lean and long,
their touch brought peace and calm,
brought hope when there was none—
His hands pressed upon my shoulders
assured, His Presence blessed.

The world has stripped Him bare
and mocks Him hanging there—
His hands which touched with Love
now nailed to splintered boards;
I wonder at such hatred
as I stare at His punctured hands.

His Side

That gash deep in His side
proves my horror—He has died,
yet I wonder, still He bleeds,
water mixes with His blood
in proof beneath His cross—
His body now a fountain.

The winds now pierce my ears,
the clamor raising fears
as Heaven howls with rage—
the blessed King of Jews
now dead between two thieves
rejected by His people.

I stand here horrified
by the way my Master died
still, yielding as a lamb
doomed, a temple sacrifice—
Love surrendered to a mob,
the pathway back to God.

 

 

His Breast

Now His head hangs on His breast,
our leaders satisfied with  His death—
now He bears His head alone
where His heart absorbed our sin;
strong in His sturdy chest,
now who will bring us rest?

He who hugged our children
on the behalf of Heaven,
holding them to His breast,
offering them His best—
Now, His heart has burst
slain by mankind’s worst.

His bruised and bloody chest
leaves me empty at His death—
I knew He was Messiah,
so now I wonder why
my Master had to die—
Earth heaves, the heavens cry.

His Heart

A soldier pierced His heart,
has fulfilled the prophet’s
gentle, muttered words,
Simeon’s temple warning
now haunts Mary’s mourning,
her heart sword pierced, she weeps—

His heart spear-pierced so deep.
His heart they burst asunder—
such hate for Love? I wonder,
must we spit at goodness,
crucify all His gladness
taking the sinner’s part?

Is His Heart just too pure
to survive earth’s atmosphere
where pride and hatred thrive?
Can holiness survive
awaiting our Messiah
who brings God cleansing fire?

His Head

His head, His face, His eyes
haunt me as He dies.
His Head must wear a crown
more worthy than those thorns—
He who lived to bless the world
and bore Himself, our sorrows.

Mark His face with glory
not grimy, dirty, bloody—
His face which healed with smiles,
gave hope to weary souls,
overpowered evil
and welcomed home the lost.

Those stark and staring eyes
which show no life, they’re lies
for His are lit with fire
which illuminates our lives,
points us ever higher
with Truth which never dies.

 

The Birds And The Flowers Encourage Us: Rejoice!

Every single year I see the yellow daffodils
practically giggling as they bravely
peek up above the frosted ground
and dance together in the chilly breezes
while they race against the red camellias
who also dare those northern winds
to  attempt to be the first to shout
their hallelujahs in their enthusiastic praises
to our Lord who has eternally conquered
sin and death, “He is risen from the grave!
He has prevailed against the gates of Hell!
He has crushed the serpent with His heel.”

While the daffodils and camellias begin to
disappear the grass begins to green while yellow
wildflowers gladly spread their homely splendor
in praise to Him who makes all of nature break out,
displaying the splendor He has created in joy
as if the resurrection of our Savior has declared
a celebration in looking to the consummation of
God’s Will for all of His Creation—and then the Irises
bright and white and deep royal purple call out
their praises while red bud, dogwood and snowball
trees add their own unique glories for His Praise
to Him who willingly died to save His beloved world.

Then the roses bud and azaleas reveal their colors
as they join the Springtime chorus in worship
of the One who shows His grandeur in each and every
blossom while the birdsongs grow in joy and in
their coupling praises as they prepare their nests—
all of nature seems to ring with all this gladsome
noise and with all the colors rioting all around us
as if to wake us from our slumbers and  our doldrums
all to draw us back to that resurrection morning
when our Savior rose victorious from the tomb
which could not hold Him as Earth and Heaven
join together singing, “He is risen!  Indeed!, He is risen!”