Good Friday

By Benedict Tan

The crowds were gathered,
crying for blood, demanding death.
They could not accept
Almighty God’s redemptive plan.

In the mockery and scoff,
I heard my own reviling voice.
The hands that wrought the frames of earth
Was nailed—held to a wooden frame.

God could not behold the Righteous One,
Filthy with the past, present, and future sin.
I have traded God for worthless things,
But the judgment was meted out on Him instead.

The pain and agony He bore
On the wretched wooden cross
Was meant for me—
A sinner due to face the cost
Of my rebellion against God.

The Giver of life gave up His life
To puny hands surrendered.
By His blood God’s wrath is satisfied,
The broken fellowship could now be mended.

I cannot grasp the magnitude
Of grace that called me out of death.
No good I did; none can I do
To merit this wonderful gift of life.

How can I comprehend that wondrous cross,
Where righteous wrath and gracious mercy meet?
Worldly glory to me be counted loss,
That I may know Him who died for me.

Sinners condemning the innocent God,
Shouting “Blasphemy!” against the rightful Lord.
The Creator surrendered meekly to the hands of men,
God’s love for me—such vastitude!

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