For Easter: The Son

Heat, bugs, and temptation,

40 days, the pressure on, then

Starts his mission, jampacked,

A rollercoaster that’s a fact.

Stories, wisdom, healing…

A man down through the ceiling,

Meets a woman at a well,

Gives her hope, she runs to tell.

Followers, foes, and friends,

The changing work never ends,

Lighting up the darkness,

Giving all, never less.

A woman healed in the crush,

He wants to see her, won’t rush,

She’s been wounded, he can see,

Gives her back her dignity.

Battling darkness, holding nerve,

Showing how to lead and serve,

Three years of life, joy and tears,

Friday showdown, Thursday fears.

Broken bread, offered wine,

Blood spilled for all time,

Friends confused, misconception,

Judas leaves, dark deception.

Garden night, prayers and sweat,

But it isn’t over yet,

Temple guards blunder near,

Friends cut and disappear.

Fools come and do their dance,

Jesus doesn’t stand a chance,

Pilate scrubs his hands that day,

Knows justice has been thrown away.

Mob rule, curse and spit,

A bloodied man nails it,

Lifted up, a sign to say,

Everything will change this day.

Six hours, a borrowed tomb,

His life cut off, as if too soon,

Sunday’s coming, watch that dawn,

See those women, hunched, forlorn,

Take a risk, bring what they can,

And find a resurrected man!

Jaws dropped, eyes wide,

Hearts thumping deep inside.

‘Tell your friends,’ he says to them,

‘Those weary, lost, frightened men,

Show the world this day has come,

They could not throw away the Son.’

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