Blistered, Ripped and Bled


I’ve just found this video which features a fantastic Easter poem performed by John Goode. It formed the end of the Good Friday service at Buckhead Church in Atlanta.  I know it’s a little late for Easter (although we are still in the season of Easter) but the message of the poem is applicable year-round. The poem starts at 1:24 if you’re too impatient to sit through – and the words are below the video:

picture this:the sins that we’ve committedare the direct causeof the pain that was inflicted upon Jesuscos He sawthe consequences of our flawsand actions,and He decided to take the awful lashes in our stead.so that night you left the clubso messed up that you ignored your God and the dangerthat you invited a strangerinto your body and your bedyour actions were the lashes that stripped the fleshfrom Christ’s legs.and those late night fightsthat led you to lift your fist against your wifeas she whispered, whimpered and begged for you to stopbut you would not until you had knocked some sense into her headgot Christ ripped across His backuntil the skin blistered, ripped and bledand when you said congrats to your co-worker on her promotionbut in fact you tore her down behind her backbecause you envied what she hadyou added the punches, lunges and jabsthat split Christ’s upper lipthe upper cuts from the fists of the soldiers as they kickedthe Saviour in His ribsHe endures the crown of thorns for every time you watch pornHe takes up the cross for your every transgression in the darkHe went to Calvary for the sins of you and me,the senseless whims that we believe are victimless crimesbut please believe the victim is Christand I hope you seethat every time you deceiveyour company with your embezzlement schemesa nail goes through His right hand, right then, and He screamsand every time you plot to meet your mistressand cheat on the missusyou can hear Him yell as the nail punctures the precious flesh of His feetas He screams for no moreHe implores us to ceasebut we ignore His pleasfind ourselves on these streets, searching for more than we needgluttony, envy and greeedfeed the need and plant the seedand indeed you can’t seethat man who can’t stand upwith his hand out, looking for a hand upand the irony is Christ is screaming ‘he is me’and the nail goes through his left handbecause we ignored and left him to die hungryon these streetsand on that fateful morningwhen the cross finally stands and comes to restwhen His needs quake in its wakeand there’s a pounding in His chestafter everything we just put Chris throughfor the sins of me and youHe looks to the heavens and says’Father, please forgive them for they know not what they do’but we do in factdaily we nail Christ to the crossnow can you picture that?