Following Jesus to the Cross

I sense myself struck dumb with the overwhelming horror, walking without strength—drawn by the crowd—drawn to be with you, my Lord, no matter where this ends I had hoped I had thought But my dirty legs carry me amidst this angry and rollicking crowd—their shouts and laughter a muddy din to my ears. Tears form but do not flow. My throat is dry and stuck—I cannot swallow. My heart, too exhausted to hurt, is held in a tense, quiet ache. It is dying with you, my Lord. All my hope All my love Dying with you. As they prod you on you’re so weak. You fall again and again. I can’t move to help—I’m just part of the current. It seems surreal. A man, a man picks up your cross. He carries it for you. You walk on blood flowing down your legs I walk in the path of your bloody footsteps. Where are you taking us? We followed you. We follow you still. None of us say a word, our eyes fixed on you. We can’t look away. Oh Lord, Oh Lord, Oh Jesus. Let it not be. Yet somewhere inside me I know it must be. This is where it all led from the very beginning somehow. • Jeri Howe • Even though Jesus had foretold what was going to happen to Him, His followers didn’t understand His prediction. How might it give you comfort to know that Jesus walked that long, painful, sorrowful walk to the cross because of His great love for you? And he said, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.” Luke 9:22 (NIV)