The Robe That He Wore

The Robe That He Wore

Spun with love, and given with joy,
I covered Him in His long journey.
Sharing life, healing, and hope to believe
What glory shined through my fine weave!

I held His frame, as He moved about
Doing His Father’s will.
But imagine my concern the evening I discerned
Agonized drops of red on my twill.

Later that night, though I’d hoped to take flight,
He stood and said “Let us go hence.”
Suddenly borne, dragged and scorned,
I shuddered as each blow caused Him to wince.

I was pulled and stretched as together we stood
Before high priests and their sneering finery.
And before long I learned that there’d be no return
To the warm crowds, and sweeter harmony.

I heard accusations, so contrary and angry
To which my Master stayed silent and still.
Provoked and harmed, but strangely unalarmed
Beat His heart for His Father’s will.

Now I was shoved, and jerked, and ripped
I couldn’t know what lay ahead.
Two trials that night, hasty and mean
More beatings I gasped in between.

Then it was dawn, and I was drawn
To the governor's house I went.
Though he tried in vain, to transfer the blame
Pilate’s fears no reason could dent.

It was then I learned what they said He’d earned
And realized my role in this deal
They cast me aside, tried to get Him to die,
and flailed the back I longed to conceal.

They ripped his skin ‘til it was red and thin,
Though I tried true with Him to remain,
But shredded and soaked, I could no longer cloak
The One for whom I was made.

Back was I put, for Pilate to look
To see if there was misery enough.
But the crowd wouldn’t please; refusing to seize
The truth My Lord never would snuff.

He was tattered and shredded, ripped and abused
Again I was torn from His keeping
But without a pause, for no nobler a cause
Each cruel attack, silent red ever creeping.

“Crucify Him, Crucify Him” yelled the priests and their people.
“Will you do this to your King?” Pilate tried to relent
“No, His blood be upon us and our children” they cried
On this the crowd stayed bent.

Washing hands from the affair, Pilate despaired
And thought that he could be free
From condemning the Man Who was becoming the Lamb.
And destined for all to see.

Many hours it was, I watched in shock
Heaped on the stone cold floor.
At the first I felt, as His life I saw melt
Rivers of blood, far more than I could shore.

Then guards picked me up, and wrapped me again
‘Round the Man to Whom I’d been given.
For it would not be long before I was dragged along
To the place where sins are forgiven.

Noon it was, when Pilate said, “Scourge Him again”
No sleep or rest since the full night before.
But what I saw next would exceed all the text,
For condemned He lay at the Praetorian door.

From noon in the palace 'til morning next day
Hundreds of soldiers did savage for sport
The innocent blood of the Savior of men
Watched I drain from the palace’s court.

The time finally came, with next morning’s sun
Shining through black portal doors
Not thorns nor blows, given all through the night
Stole His love that evens the scores.

Up once more, from my heap on the floor,
To drape His unrecognizable frame.
Once more they dragged Him, now hardly a man
And still the crowds jeered again and again.

Unable to stand, supported and dragged,
They found the Cyrenian to carry
the load of the cross, not feeling the loss
of the Savior the Bride will marry.

Now it is time, to raise up His life
A final injustice to shame
Each nail through the wrists, and each pounding of fists
Couldn’t shake Him from earning His name.

Today we know the satisfied glow
of a people Who have been forgiven.
But were it not for His pain, and the work that it gained
Our hope would have never arisen.

May the glory and joy of His salvation fill you with wonder and awe. May His peace rest upon you and your house this day as we celebrate the resurrection of our Beloved Savior and First Love, Jesus Christ!

With much love to you this Resurrection Sunday,

Paul Norcross