They dragged him out through the city gates.
I saw the women crying.
I heard the jeers that fell like blows
On this one they were crucifying.

Compelled to carry his own cross,
He fell beneath the weight,
No doubt weakened through loss of blood
And wounds of spiteful hate.

His ‘crime’ was claiming to be our King …
The Son of God some say,
But … why would God permit him to die,
And in such a shameful way?

The Roman soldiers nailed him down
With a thief on either side;
Two felons who deserved their fate.
At least they were justly tried

But this man … they must have trapped him
The Pharisees and the Scribes,
Persuading Pontius Pilate
With flatteries or bribes.

Yet as they watched him, gloating
At the success of their evil plan,
There came the most shocking utterance
From the lips of the tortured man.

Lifting his marred and bloodied face
(He was near to death, I knew)
He prayed “Father, forgive them
For they know not what they do.”

I scarce could believe I had heard him
Making such a gracious plea,
But the most unsettling thing was this –
As he prayed … he looked straight at me!

© Nesta F Sutherland

For all have sinned …
Romans 3:23

The soul that sinneth, it shall die.
Ezekiel 18:4

…the blood of Jesus Christ His Son
cleanseth us from all sin
1 John 1:7