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The Passion Of Christ - Poem by MBJ Pancras

The Passion of Christ

MBJ Pancras

It’s not My will, but Thy will,

Let Me die on the cross for their sins,

And My blood pave way to eternity;

Yet My Soul is sorrowful unto death.

Abba, take away this cup from Me;

Yet if it’s Thy will, and not My will.

Father, Thy promise Thou made with the serpent

That Thou would put enmity ‘twixt him and a woman,

And I should bruise his head;

Nevertheless he should bruise My heel.

For this is Thy eternal promise for man

Who been formed in Thy image;

But been smashed himself with the deceiver.

Flesh is weak and tempting;

Yet the spirit is willing and godly,

For Me too passed thro’ the way of the tempter;

Yet cursed him with Thy Eternal Word.

Unfelt agony runs into My soul,

When I bear the sins of the world,

And who on earth knows it,

Except Thou and Me, Who are ONE?

Do men know Me, Who is in Thee,

And Thou in Me, hath stripped off Glory

And hath become a servant to them,

And made in their likeness with all humbleness

Carrying the cross of shame and abuse?

My sweat is as it were great drops of blood

And Gethesmene I pray turns red.

Who knows but Thou ought ought to reveal

That My blood be shed on the cross

Which is the symbol of the new covenant?

Father, in the beginning I AM,

And all things made by Me and for Me

Who hath come unto earth as the Light,

And I AM Thy Glory, full of grace and Truth.

My Father, here come My betrayer,

For his time hath come to strike Me

As he has to bruise My heel,

And I should then bruise his head,

For it’s Thy Eternal plan of mystery.

Here comes he with the spirit of darkness

Carrying lanterns and torches and weapons

Of unrighteousness and ungodliness.

Father, let Me finish Thy work,

But strengthen Me with Thy Spirit.

Now the betrayer hath sneaked unto me.

Look, he kisses Me amidst the mob.

Am I his beloved for his kiss?

Yet he is My beloved.

He hath dipped himself in My cup of blood.

It’s Judas kiss bought for thirty silver.

He hath sold his soul to the roaring lion

Which devours the sons of Adam.

I made Judas My apostle;

But he made himself the liar’s instrument.

The night I am put in chains in the realm of darkness

And I am left alone with none to share mine.

Where are My apostles, My disciples?

I remember Peter’s words

That he said he would go with Me,

And I know the rooster should crow

After his denial of Me thrice to go.

He is a mere man who knows not

That things written be accomplished in Me.

They drag Me, kick Me with their boots of sins,

I am chained by their unrighteousness,

And am whipped by their blasphemy of My Father,

For when I am rejected My Father is rejected

As My Father and I are ONE,

And who hath seen Me hath seen My Father.

My people spit on Me all the way

Where blood from My body sheds.

The thorny whips tear My flesh;

Yet I rejoice in My Father’s will,

But their sins sadden My soul.

I am dragged unto the high priests

Who’ve been awaiting My trial.

Even My disciples have forsaken,

And left Me alone, but My Father in Me.

Am I held ‘midst people of the law

Which was the schoolmaster awhile

Until I finish it with My blood.

Their trial with Me hath begun with bitterness.

And Peter is seen with a mob at the fire.

False witnesses spewed on Me, yet contrary,

Whose arrows stuck on My statement

That I will destroy the temple,

And in three days I will build one.

Behold, And they’re spiritually blind and deaf.

They spit on Me blindfolding My eyes,

And play prophecy of hide and seek.

Each spit on Me is a sin of theirs

And their hurt in not on My body but soul.

They kick Me with their boots with spikes,

And the unrighteousness of My people bruises.

My soul bleeds not of Me but of their doom.

The father of lies mocks at My Eternal plan.

The liar can bruise but My heel,

And his head is already beneath My heel.

My people strike Me with the palms,

And they slap on My cheek with prophecy;

Yet I hold peace to defeat the liar.

No man is found to paint the pallor on My face.

I am denied thrice as of My mysterious plan.

I am tried till the sun sinks at the horizon,

And I become the laughing-stock of My people.

I thirst, but not a dropp of water I ’m offered,

Where found midst earthly meals the disciples of the liar.

To liars My Truth seems blasphemy

For professing themselves to be wise and godly,

They’ve turned scoffers strolling in lusts.

I’m ‘gainst the mighty liars,

Who’ve forgotten I AM Almighty

Having denied the Power of the Most High

Whose Eternal plan of salvation is for them

Whose trial against Me is vain;

Yet satan in disguise kicks My heel.

My angels were struck in pride in Heaven,

And so were drained off into hell

With their filth and lust in darkness.

They spit on Me Who is the Lamb.

The trial ‘ere Pilate take its roots,

And no roots of earth are of Mine,

For My Father breaks off every branch

That beareth no fruit in Me.

For they wear attires of pomp and pride

With no clothes of righteousness.

Hidden in the mask of flattery

Pilate hath no way to mark justice;

Yet it hath been the Eternal plan of salvation

In Me Who is the Lamb of sacrifice.

Who knows My kingdom is not of this world?

I’ve come down to speak the Truth

That hath made the governor question Me:

‘What is Truth? ’

And who believes I AM the Way, the Truth and the Life?

For all have eaten the forbidden fruit

Which hath set free the son of peridition

Who is the father of lies of all ages.

And Pilate sets free a convict as is the custom

Which hath a way in the Passover.

Truth sets free the blessed souls from Death;

But falsehood sets free sinners from Life.

I’m whipped in flesh to bleed;

But I am whipped in spirit by their sins.

I’ crowned with thorns and twigs:

The metaphors of sins and iniquities.

They throw around Me a purple robe

And cry against Me in sarcasm

That I would live long as the King of the Jews

Whose minds are darkened by worldly wisdom,

For My kingdom is not of this world.

They slap Me on the cheek with arrogance,

I remember Judas’ kiss on the same cheek

Who hath drowned in the lust of silver.

I make neither complaint nor not of repulsiveness,

For it’s My Father’s will to bear the cross.

Back to the porch of the palace

I’m made the season with withering leaves.

Their crown and robe on Mine are their hypocrisy

Who cried against Me riding on a colt.

Their crown and robe on Mine are their hypocrisy

Who carried against Me riding on a colt,

They threw their cloaks of praise and shouts

Across the way I trotted upon on the colt,

They laid branches cut from trees,

And I knew they were clothed with filthy attires.

Their praises and shouts now turned to curses and abuses.

I’m now thrown into the hands of disciples of the liar

Who is a like a roaring lion to devour.

Their faulty law plays in their hands

And laughs at My Father’s Rock of Salvation.

But I laugh at the liar’s defeated victory on Me,

For in My resurrection Death hath no victory.

Who knows death took its roots since first transgression

In Eden with the consumption of the Forbidden Fruit;

Yet in Me Life is sealed in Him to Eternity?

I’ve longed for Judas’ godly sorrow like the prodigal son,

But he was bitten by the serpent on the Tree

Where the betrayer tasted the Fruit and died.

He took himself to the tree of death

For the taste of the Fruit turned bitter to him.

Power of this world hath blinded Pilate’s conscience

Whose power hath been predicted over Me

With My self-will hidden in the Most High.

The Eternal plan of salvation hath tied Pilate.

Who washed himself in his self-righteousness

And throws Me out for want of pomp and pride.

Now I’m in the arms of thorns and bushes

Laden with the cross of the world set out;

Yet My journey thro’ human darkness is for a while,

For the Reward of Eternity is awaiting Me

And the ones who are rooted in Me.

Each whip lashed on Me is the multiple sins of the world,

And the spikes of the whips tear My flesh,

And I bleed with the agony of lost souls,

Whom I’ve made for Glory with My Father.

Behold! A toll strikes this hour

When I hear the hellish roar at a distance,

And I know the traitor hath flung the silver

Which have no price for his destiny.

I shed tears for him but he’s lost

For his death is certain in My Eternal Plan,

And who could change it but Me;

Yet it’s all My plan of mystery in the Father?

They hit Me with a stick o’er the head,

And mock lat Me saying ‘Long live the King of Jews.’

A scepter of stick thrust into My palms,

A game of mockery is played ‘gainst Me;

Yet I am as innocent as a lamb led to the slaughter,

As writ in the Scriptures with the design of My Father:

I’m oppressed, and afflicted down to death on earth;

Yet I open not My mouth to charge complaints,

I’m brought as a lamb to the slaughter,

And as a sheep before her shearer is dumb.

All the way I’m kicked to fall on the stony path.

Look! My knees bruised and torn for you,

Still are there moments of repentance from hypocrisy.

Ho! Here am I fallen on the thorny twigs.

Behold! My clothes are torn with blood flowing out.

They tilt Me with their pompous boots.

I try to lift Myself but laden with the cross.

Pity of sacrcasm plays in their hearts

And in turn a man from Cyrene is laid with the cross.

I carry the sins of the world for crucifixion;

But he’s made to carry the wooden cross behind Me.

Is it My Word that says unto you:

‘Take up your cross everyday and follow Me? ’

Nay, but to forsake the world of sins

Be My doctrine with the love of My Father.

You cannot carry the cross I bear;

Yet you can carry yours beside Me.

Shouts of abuses thunder into My heart

Amidst the cry of lamentation across the way.

They hook Me up with scornful epithets

And the liar of the world bruised My heel;

Yet I walk the path of obedience to physical death

That My death on the cross shows Way to Eternity.

I hear the cry of My people,

Why do they cry with wailing?

Do they mourn over My trial on earth

Or o’er their sinful attires.?

Who knows, but I know?

They shed tears of emotions,

And who knows their sins crucify Me?

Behold! I hear the Nightingale’s song ‘cross the stormy breeze.

Is it the song of melody unto My people

For they murmur Nature too mocks at My trial?

But I know My creations are under My power.

They’ve painted the day’s sky with glooms

As their pilgrimage on earth smeared with sins.

Back on Me the cross is thrust and I’m knocked down,

And My face dashes ‘gainst rocks on the way.

The spiky rocks tear My skin to bleed,

I bleed and bleed till the last drop.

Little children kiss My bleeding cheeks

And they take the mark of My sacrifice.

The sun soars higher and higher

And each phase of My journey is of My Father’s plan.

I scale ‘gainst the steep hillock with lashes on My back.

The fiendish serpent laughs at Me,

And strolls with the exotic steps drowned in hellish dirt.

And I know he bruises MY HEEL:
But he ‘knows’ not I’ll bruise his head.

My disciples walk apart with arms tied,

For none can break the design of My Father.

The sun strikes the altitude and I reach the slaughter.

They drag Me unto the ‘place of the skull’.

Who’ve thought I would sleep ‘neath the grave

Which hath no future for death is once for all.

Their conscience is buried in darkness by the liar,

Like dried-up springs and clouds blown along by a storm,

Their thoughts and deeds lie in vain of glory,

All bundled in filthy rags of lusts,

Whose promise of freedom is spoken by the father of this world,

The mighty trap hidden with baits of freedom of slavery.

Who knows but My Father of My destruction of the Temple;

Yet be rebuilt in three days in glory?

Behold! They strip off My clothes to naked.

The serpent sneaks onto the Forbidden Tree

With a cynical comedy of errors;

Yet it bruises My heel with its bitten fang.

My Father drove out Adam and Eve from Eden

Who had turned unholy committed themselves to the liar.

Now the liar, he thinks, drives Me out into the grave.

But I will destroy him with My dazzling presence.

My garments they part and share ‘mongst themselves,

And My robe made of single piece of woven cloth

With no seam found in it, thrown at dice.

Do they know it’s of the Scriptures foretold?

They lay Me on the cross down on the earth.

I recall My infancy couched on the manger:

How I was cared and nurtured by My human parents.

I was in the safe arms from bitter cold;

But now I lie sans comfort and in blood.

My arms are stretched across to be nailed,

Lost of strength My legs are pulled along.

My people watch the gory sight of crucifixion.

They nail My palms and feet ruthlessly.

How I healed My people from diseases

How I fed My people from starvation!

How I walked to listen to My people’s sorrows!

But they watch Me now lying on the cross.

Do they know of My death on the cross?

The nails are pierced deep into veins and nerves,

Streams of blood flow down unto My people;

But they kick My blood splashed ‘cross My face.

Unfelt agony and untold miseries crushed My spirit,

For they repent not of their sins but die

Forsaking My Father’s promise unto those who believe Me.

When nails are pierced Mine My Father strengthens Me.

I bear the pain for the promise of My Father.

They raise Me nailed on the cross.

Curses and abuses lashed on Me,

And they shout they’ve cut the root of the tree.

Alas! They do not know what they do;

Yet My Eternal Plan of these shall happen.

I look at My disciples at the Cross

Whose darkened hearts I perceive.

Full of heaviness with a doubting hope

Of what will happen to Me and them.

They’re petals turned pale in the evening,

They’re the garden of Fall with no fruits bearing,

Like distant stars with faded light they look

My people fling upon Me mockery:

‘He saved others; let Him save Himself

Who claimed the Son of God! ’

Not to save Myself is My advent to the world;

But it’s My Father's Eternal Design in Me

That salvation is for mankind in My Father’s likeness.

It’s written above My head of the Kingship:

‘This is the King of the Jews’

Who know not of My Eternal Kingship,

Not of this world, but of the Heaven.

Behold! The criminal on My left hurls at Me:

‘Are You the Anointed One? Save Thyself and us!

Is he the son of Cain who turned a fugitive?

Is it not like “am I my brother’s keeper?

The convict on My right is another prodigal son

Whose sorrow of his filthy rags turns his blessed.

‘Lord! Remember me in Your Kingdom! ’

My promise unto him hath crowned his a hope of glory:

‘This day shall you be with Me in Paradise.’

It is the prime of the day with beams of fire splashed across:

The sun is in its meridian lashing unforgiving rays.

Behold! The sun is darkened by the clouds of glooms,

It’s day but turns night as a premonition

What happens to the creation in My Day in Glory.

The temple of the city trembles at My Word’

And the curtain is torn in the middle,

Yea, Moses’ law turns unto rags with no price,

For I make the New and Eternal Law of love in Me.

Nightly day survives until My Last Cry’

Troubled with the heaviness of My people’s sins:

‘My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?

‘Yet it’s finished. Thy work on earth is done,

Father, here I commend My spirit unto Thee’

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