Not Another

Now I—yes I!—proud sinner that I am
Am guilty of the murder of my God.
I treacherously kissed the Son of Man
And sold him over to the raging mob.

And I—no, not another—turned and fled,
Abandoned him to face his doom alone.
I said I never knew him, turned my head,
And walked away beneath the rooster’s crow.

Then I—unfaithful—lied against Him there
And brought a baseless charge against my King.
I would have sworn before the High Priest’s chair
That He was guilty, then, of anything.

And I—damnation!—beat Him with a rod,
Heaped insults on Him, spit into His face.
I whipped and bruised the very Son of God,
Who took it all—damnation!—in my place.

And next—cleaning my hands of what was done—
I sentenced Him to death, as one guilty.
And as I stood by jeering, making fun,
He tried to bear the cross up Calvary.

And with my hands—which I could never wash—
I held Him down and nailed Him to the tree
Then as He died I stood with pride and watched
But failed to see He did it all for me.

Now I–fool that I am–have murdered Him
And left the Father bereft of His Son.
But rather than condemn me for this sin,
He says “Forgive, he knows not what he’s done.”

And I–the guilty party–stand redeemed
I have not faced the fire, as I should.
The hands which I had tried in vain to clean
Are now made white as snow, washed in His blood.

The blood I spilled does not cry out my guilt
But rather calls for God to grant mercy,
The body which I thought that I had killed
Instead rises again, embraces me.

How was it not enough to spill his blood,
Enough to press the thorns into his head?
Must I now wallow in the cleansing flood,
And take his flesh and blood as wine and bread?!

Now I—yes I—proud sinner that I am
Am brought before the One that I betrayed
And I—no not another—through the Lamb,
Am cherished by the God that I had slain.