from the Last Hours of Christ series
(as seen through the eyes of Mary Magdalene)

I listen in horror to the apostle's accounts 
of what happened at Gethsemane,
that night when the soldiers arrested Jesus,
and the apostles were forced to flee.

Now we stand on the fringes of the crowd
and watch this mockery of a trial proceed.
How can they think of condemning this man
who holds the answer to their every need?

How is it possible that His ministry of mercy
can simply be ending like this?
And why is it that I keep imagining
I can hear a nearby serpent hiss?

Standing with His mother, I watch His torture,
my heart broken and filled with dread.
I long to run to Him and wipe the blood
from His precious thorn encircled head.

I shudder with every lash of the whip,
every nail that is hammered into place,
as I witness His agony and suffering.
It's reflected in His eyes and upon His face.

I fall to my knees and gaze up at Him
as He hangs there upon His cross.
I pray for a quick end to His suffering,
wondering how I will survive His loss.

Father, I know the life I used to live
was extremely offensive to Thee.
So why is Your perfect Son hanging on that cross
when it should have been me?

I will never understand what He did for me,
or why He was willing to sacrifice,
to pay for the many sins of a woman like me.
Yet He was willing to pay the ultimate price.