Jesus of the Scars

April 8, 2015

Jesus of the Scars

(I got the idea for this poem from the title of something I saw online by Edward Shillito:

https://wmson.wordpress.com/2006/05/19/poets-corner-jesus-of-the-scars/

Jesus of the Manger,

A Baby sweet, serene.

Church is comfortable with this,

Fondly view this scene.

Jesus of the Crowd:

Teacher Who could Heal.

The One Who spoke in Mercy,

Who made the storm be still.

Jesus of the Scars,

Another picture this.

A gruesome sight, the crucifix;

Mockers jeer and hiss.

The scars are raw and deep,

The blood is running red,

My Lord is there upon the cross—

I can but bow my head.

Such agony is there,

Such shame and misery!

What spineless wimp I find myself!

I am not strong as He.

He took it all up there.

Abuse and thorny wreath

Had come before and now nailed high,

God’s wrath would find relief.

He poured it out on Him

Who knew no speck of guilt.

Christ drank the cup to bitter dregs

For man His blood was spilt.

Jesus of the Scars,

I know You stayed not there;

They buried Thee and, come to life,

You made me “Righteous Heir.”

And still I see Thy scars.

They’re in Thy hands and side.

I see the Christian life is hard

There in Thy sober eyes.

And what will be my lot?

To what will I be sent?

What battle field will my eyes see

For Him Who ‘fore me went?

The stripes well might be more

Than I could ever dream;

The scars may, too, be deep

As Thine that I have seen.

I know Thou wilt be there,

But will my courage last?

Will I be true and brave for Thee?

(And is this wrong to ask?)

I blush to say this, Lord,

But, I’m afraid of pain.

What horrors Thou in courage took,

I bow my head ashamed.

It is the truth, though, Lord.

Oh, Jesus of the Scars!

If only trials will draw me close

To Thee, bring Thou what mars.