PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

[to the Reverend Ron Davis,
the friend who "sticketh closer than a brother,"
I dedicate this poem
in honor of that night we assembled a cross,
Easter Eve, 1995]

A lot of traveling folks came to Jerusalem, that week.
The road outside the gate was never still.
I wonder, though, how many of them paused to look upon
three crosses standing on a little hill.

I doubt the Roman soldiers even thought about it much:
a teacher and two thieves they had to kill.
Those priests had said that middle one must face the holy house. [*]
Those crosses stood just so upon that hill.

I think that Abraham and Isaac came there, long before,
in their obedience to God's spoken Will.
But God kept Isaac safe, providing Abraham a ram
entangled in a thicket on that hill.

And, so much later, maybe David passed there on his way
to see the Jebusite Araunah's mill
and threshing floor where God's angelic messnger had stood---
not too far yonder, past that little hill.

And when the wise men came into Jerusalem with news
about a birth (that made King Herod ill).
they rested with their camels once more as they watched one star
rise to the darkened sky above that hill.

No Roman soldier understood, nor did the Pharisees;
nor Pontius Pilate at his window-sill.
But Jesus knew just what Salvation cost, and gave Himself
to our death on that cross upon that hill,

so long ago, across the sea.  And yet, the Saviour stood
beside me, one cold night, to cleanse and fill
my sin-sick soul with saving Grace that He had earned for me,
when He died for my sake upon that hill.

Dear friend, are you lost in your sins, or backslid to the world?
Or is your faith exhausted next to nil?
The joy of God's Salvation can be yours.  Just claim the blood
that stained Christ's cross upon that little hill.
 
Starward
 
[jlc]