Christ shouldered the Cross and suffered upon it   This poem imagines the wood of the cross being made into a door, something on which to meditate.  By his suffering on the Cross, Jesus carpentered the door to holy Grace, that we need for heaven.  It recalls when the Israelites smeared blood on the lintel to escape death. —JR

The Door of the Cross

Upon the cross, they hung Him from,
y drove in nails that held Him fast;
They fixed Him there, to succumb,
His limbs outstretched whilst life did last!

And He hung, His hands unfree,
In agony, upon that tree...

And thus He died Our Lord the Christ,
His Blood ran out, the red, the gore!
 On that wood, was Jesus sacrificed.
And through it all, He made a door.
     ―The portal of our salvation,
         For ev'ry people, of ev'ry nation!       
         A door to heavenly Grace,
         An entry to that holy place!

His arms and hands extended o'er,
The upright wood, His torso before:
To th
is stipes, His feet were nailed:
To the standing wood they were impaled.

Imagine how they suspended Him,
Like a carcass
, from trunk and limb!

And how the vertical split,
In twain, the two of it

And thus the timber cleft,
Were doorposts, both right and left.

It harkens back to Testament Old
When blood
bedaubed the lintel o'er,
Stay inside the Israelites were told:
Till morning come, leave not before.

The angel of death would pass them by
And leave untouched
the Hebrew born;
But Egypt's
first, that night would die,
And Egypt
would cry, and it would mourn.

His Blood came forth from the sticking thorn
It bedaubed the cross, His suff'ring tree;
And from men He felt the hurt, the  scorn,
As His life was taken with such cruelty.

At the entryway of grace, beneath the lintel,
He bled as He was sacrificed;
And the mouths of wounds, would glory tell,

As they spoke of the courage of Christ.

                                                   —John Riedell

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