If ever I take to the stand...
I would talk about the crown of thorns and the nails on his wrists. I would talk about the tree they brought down, the vinegar they gave him and the cries that rent the air that day. If I take to the stand I shall talk about the blood, that red blood that gave us peace and life. I would talk about the sorrow and the beatings that gave us respite. I will talk about a persecution that got us forgiven, torture that got us healed and ropes that got us freed. I would talk of the son of a carpenter, the son of a humble woman who became the lord of nations. If ever I take to the stands, I would defend a man, arrested and persecuted for giving the truth to a nation that refused to believe. I would give my testimony to all and sundry, a witness that chanted the soldiers on, a witness that spat at he who bore the tree on his back. I would stand at the witness box and I would speak, a witness whose words drip guilt and his lips beg for remorse. I will stand guilty as charged. If ever I take the stand, I shall be there not as an accomplice but one who deserves all the blame, for though I did not pick the hammer, I spat. I know that though I did not stone the man, I stood with they who did it. Who am I to partake in the bread of they that wept that day? Who am I to stand amongst those that spread ash on themselves as they mourned he who was more than a carpenter to them? If ever I take to the stand, I will ask for chains to be put around me and a stone weighed down on my neck. I shall ask for strong men to hurl me down into the deep and watch me sink. Who am I to deserve the grace of those whose hearts broke and eyes flooded with tears? Who am I to claim a spot on the table of grace yet while they huddled in fear I was there drinking and making merry? Who am I to claim the inheritance of parents who are not even mine? If ever I take to the stand it will be to ask that this grace be taken away from me, for I do not even deserve it. I will ask for his mercies to be stripped off me and a yoke be put in its place, for that is what I deserve to drag for the rest of my life. I would ask to walk the path he did, for I know that I can attempt to carry the cross and receive a little beating, but I cannot carry the guilt of a people. I am a coward, a man that crucified my salvation and buried my hope. If ever I take to the stands, it shall not be to exonerate myself but to be charged. It will not be to beg for mercy but to demand a punishment, for I deserve nothing, but the weight of my guilt and the depth of my sin.
I would talk about the crown of thorns and the nails on his wrists. I would talk about the tree they brought down, the vinegar they gave him and the cries that rent the air that day. If I take to the stand I shall talk about the blood, that red blood that gave us peace and life. I would talk about the sorrow and the beatings that gave us respite. I will talk about a persecution that got us forgiven, torture that got us healed and ropes that got us freed. I would talk of the son of a carpenter, the son of a humble woman who became the lord of nations. If ever I take to the stands, I would defend a man, arrested and persecuted for giving the truth to a nation that refused to believe. I would give my testimony to all and sundry, a witness that chanted the soldiers on, a witness that spat at he who bore the tree on his back. I would stand at the witness box and I would speak, a witness whose words drip guilt and his lips beg for remorse. I will stand guilty as charged. If ever I take the stand, I shall be there not as an accomplice but one who deserves all the blame, for though I did not pick the hammer, I spat. I know that though I did not stone the man, I stood with they who did it. Who am I to partake in the bread of they that wept that day? Who am I to stand amongst those that spread ash on themselves as they mourned he who was more than a carpenter to them? If ever I take to the stand, I will ask for chains to be put around me and a stone weighed down on my neck. I shall ask for strong men to hurl me down into the deep and watch me sink. Who am I to deserve the grace of those whose hearts broke and eyes flooded with tears? Who am I to claim a spot on the table of grace yet while they huddled in fear I was there drinking and making merry? Who am I to claim the inheritance of parents who are not even mine? If ever I take to the stand it will be to ask that this grace be taken away from me, for I do not even deserve it. I will ask for his mercies to be stripped off me and a yoke be put in its place, for that is what I deserve to drag for the rest of my life. I would ask to walk the path he did, for I know that I can attempt to carry the cross and receive a little beating, but I cannot carry the guilt of a people. I am a coward, a man that crucified my salvation and buried my hope. If ever I take to the stands, it shall not be to exonerate myself but to be charged. It will not be to beg for mercy but to demand a punishment, for I deserve nothing, but the weight of my guilt and the depth of my sin.
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