Who is this man?

Who is this man
upon a cross
upon a hill
Whose mother stands
to see him suffer?

Who, but a day or two before, broke bread with dear friends

And told them it was the end – of a long and beautiful friendship

At least in the form they had known it

Who is this man
upon a cross
upon a hill
Who prays forgiveness
Upon those who want to see him suffer?

And where are the adoring crowds that swarmed him, hailed him as king
Listened to his every word

There is no crowd now
only

a mother who stands to see him suffer

Who is this Jesus
upon a hill
seated and teaching
the masses
and then feeding them through dramatic display of prayer and faith
and healing the sick
and opening eyes that are blind

Who is this man, this Jesus
Who held meetings on mountains
With Prophets who’d been dead for thousands of years
Who walked on water and calmed storms
And stirred a little girl from Death to Life

And who is this Jesus
Who calls a spade a spade
And ignores the religious and respected
Preferring the company of the despised
And the rejected
And who talks to women in public
And Samaritans, in both private and public

Who is this man who can
And defy Rome
And defy the temple officials
And talk in militant terms of a Kingdom that will
Last forever
Yet be moved to tears at the death of a friend?

Why is He now upon a cross
upon a hill
forsaken
bereft
betrayed

Why is the begotten, forgotten
and left to die a criminal death
between two thives
His head and under a crown of thorns
And a purple robe across his shoulders
Both placed upon him in bitter irony and sarcasm

While his mother watched him suffer

Who is this God
The Son of Man
Up on a Cross
Up on a hill
And who are we to watch
His death, year in and year out
And go from Crib to Cross
From miracle to miracle
parable to parable
year to year
and live sometimes as though
His death were
Of little meaning

Who is this dying Saviour
Abandoned by the God He calls ABBA
Abandoned by Heaven
upon a hill
While His mother stands
to see him suffer?

He is Dead, Dead, Dead
The beloved begotten Son
Is dead – the body is limp upon the cross
The last words are uttered
And now it will be removed to a borrowed tomb

Who is this man?
Who lies in a borrowed tomb
The stone rolled shut
And sealed – and He who said He was God
Is gone…
Gone…
Gone.

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