Cross You Bore

He came to suffer death,

Bloodied, beaten, & red,

Body torn with skin shred,

To die in our stead,

Christ bore the Cross of the dead.

For the wrath we were due,

He paid the price, He sacrificed His life,

 For us, that we may live anew.

Before Jesus died, He decreed,

“If anyone would come after me,

let him deny himself

and take up his cross and follow me.”

What does it take,

To carry a cross?

It’s a brutal beam,

That rigorous T-

It’s one of burden & labor,

One of faith,

An all-in wager.

It’s one of strength, & muscles that tear,

One of sacrifice,

It’s the weight, we all must bear.

By His word, He declared.

“Repent!”

In His suffering,

All His followers share.

What we must carry,

Is splintered & heavy.

On our backs we wear,

That Iron Tree,

For it’s our soul, not our body, that walks free.

Stumbling afoot,

Through scattered bogs,

With only our faith,

After we’ve been battered & flogged.

Through the valley of the shadow of death,

Jagged, rough, & coarse.

Our guide, It’s not our eyes,

But His Spirit, that’s the source.

Onward,

We carry on,

Up the mountain of staggered rock & stone,

His follower’s hike, into the heart of the great unknown.

In confidence, we shoulder That Iron Tree,

As we climb the summit, it’s here, we bow to kiss His ring,

“For you, my Providence, my King,

Humbled, lowly, & meek,

I come to lay at your feet.

Out of the valley, up over, & across,

Only by your power, have I carried this cross.”