CrucifiedOne manCrucified To save us all the trouble of considering the honest reality of our lives and whether our religion means anything At all. Thank you Caiaphas, Pilate, Annas, Nameless Roman Soldiers For nailing away that troublesome man. Easter SongThe future is openFor the stone is rolled away The future is life This is where his body lay The future is light Our morning is no longer grey The future is free And I don't know what to say The future is now Since He arose on Easter Day The future is now strange But I walk upon the Way HurtFor the hurts which still weigh in meFor the thorns which still catch in me Lord! Have mercy! For what has twisted me For what resists in me Lord! Have mercy! For what inveigles my mind For what invades my heart Lord! Have mercy! For what I cannot forget For what I always regret Lord! Have mercy! For the anger undying For the lion unsleeping Lord! Have mercy! For all that was not as it could be For all that is not as it should be Lord! Have mercy! For my heart in its raging For my soul in its caging Oh Lord, have mercy, have mercy and grant me one drop of that tender forgiveness which falls from your lips on the cross Mary's Song By The CrossI was waiting by the crosswhen they nailed my son upon it I was waiting by the cross when they nailed my son upon it Yes we stood there by the cross When they murdered my firstborn Son Hands which I held in mine When I recieved him from my womb Flinched with sudden anguish When they nailed him to the cross Feet which ran to greet me When I called him as a child Turned bloody with the nails When they nailed him to the cross Voice which laughed and shouted As he played on summer evenings Croaked last, that; 'It is finished' When they nailed him to the cross Body which grew to manhood Under my love and anxious caring Hung limp and close to dieing When they nailed him to the cross And his spirit which grew to wisdom As I watched with pride and wonder Breathed its last, and quick departed When they nailed him to the cross I was waiting by the cross when they nailed my son upon it I was waiting by the cross when they nailed my son upon it Yes we stood there by that cross When they murdered my firstborn Son There was a kindness in the deathThere was a kindness in the deathAfter anguish, gentleness After insult, respect. And placed in a stone tomb: No pauper's grave, no pit. Only the sweet smells of the garden, The serenading of bird song. Yes, in the end, beauty led him to his rest Love wrapped him Peace bound him As the tomb swallowed her brief guest To Cross ComeTo cross comewith limp, with limb dragging with heart heavy, hard with sorrow with memory mumbling, moaning To cross come sad soul, sore that you are flesh flaky, skin raw come To the clawed cross to the Christ beaten battered, abused come in your gentle humanity loved, delightful one brimming with beauty come through rabble deaf through bigots through prejudice, poverty of thought, imaginations puny and pusillanimous come to the cross to the shining cross flush with forgiveness effulgent miracle of mercy come To cross come clean in the coming cauterized A new babe bright in the burning Without the deathWithout the death there would be no PentecostWithout the death there would be no Spirit, filling the lungs with every language known to man Without the death there would be no Spirit, gently holding us in her mother's arms For without the death there would have been no garden full of Angels no gardener speaking the word no Emmaus and the breaking of bread no Peter pleading 'Yes Lord, you know that I love you!' Without the death they would be no Paul writing to Romans there would be no Christians thrown to the Lions there would be no there would be no Francis and his preaching to birds there would be no Luther hammering the door there would be no Wilberforce stopping the traffic there would be no Revival in backstreet churches there would be no King denouncing the racists there would be no Church of n Without the death we would be alone There would be no Spirit filling our hearts There would be no songs filling our lungs There would be nothing but death and the long loneliness. Without that death on the cross Who would we be? |