Jesus’ end begins, by being betrayed. His identity attested to, He’s arrested. The Prince of Peace is then misrepresented by His own alliance’s violence. The Son of Man is handed over, abandoned, and finally denied by His most vital disciple. The Great High Priest is questioned by the least of high priests, and struck by an official for speaking openly, “There is only hope in me.” Pompous leaders with malice mean to stay clean, they won’t cross the brink of Pontius’ palace. They say He’s seized because Jesus would see Caesar cease. Inside He’s interrogated and berated, yet elevated to the status of King, though Truth Himself is doubted and flouted. Stupefied, the self-righteous riotous mob cry to see the Messiah crucified. The Passover lamb ends up passed over for a murderer. God is flogged, given a mocker’s makeover, and then dressed in majestic purple; given purple wounds with no dressing. Addressed as innocent by the governor, the government weighed heavy on His heavenly heaving shoulders amidst shudders. Jesus tried, then crucified, crucified. The sign sings the Good News the confused had refused: Jesus “King of the Jews.” The Lord forlorn, though forewarned, His simple seamless garment isn't torn like the Temple Veil; signifying where harm is meant, peace will prevail. As His vigor dips, the Son of God sips bitter vinegar, but the pain lingers. His lips split to echo the refrain of the Psalm singer, Then, in a tone diminished. “It is Finished.” The Life denied, with that cry Jesus died for the blind seduced by Lucifer’s lies. But as the prophet had spoken, His legs were not broken, for blood and water left the ground soaking where the spear poked Him, fiercely piercing the Prince. It left soldiers convinced of His death. A despondent respondent, the whole Globe is robed in darkness, as before the Creation, and the Earth shakes and groans as it takes the Word that atones our Salvation.

Why call this Friday good? He who stood for all that’s right’s dying day on some wood? Could this injustice not be avoided, the execution certificate voided? His allocution said, “With this Death get’s exploited.” But what would be wimpier, out not with a bang but a whimper? A sombre timbre as his limbic system hangs limber, Him of sincere wisdom timbers. Number - as his numbers up, succumbs to Slumber as He sips this cup. His mind rewinds to when times were easier, before He proclaimed his reign as disease cure. The sign was hewed, ‘King of the Jews’ but could anything be more confused? He claimed to hold eternity’s password, that with certainty sin’s chains would be shattered. So, though it hurts, we must entertain his last words: Forgiveness … He didn’t just speak it He lived it; he gives this: Salvation. A vacation from damnations invocation. Lost is Satan’s grip, the cross a celebration of Relationship. Despite feeling like embossed Abandonment It handed random men a grand advancement. Yes, it was genuine Distress, Yet, it is the engine of being blessed. For in its shadow is a friendly family Reunion, How though? We planned to see it so soon - then - Not after two thousand years of communion! Why’d we have to take our lumps before seeing Triumph? Wise to keep assumptions and presumptions to a minimum, For our transgressions, that’s what he did with them. Our aggressions, repressions, oppressions, and sinful suggestions, are met in this simple lesson: When hate swallowed Christ’s great hallowed temple, it made the grave shallow, gave Death indigestion.

"That night was thick with frightening tricks. I thought I might be sick at the sight of the victim's body. Though we ought to fight the wicked Gotti wannabees, they bought off the mighty bickering potty-mouthed authorities. These godly Pharisees grin broadly and stare at me, I begin to carry out the hottest commodity - the sin therapy - Me! A man from Arimathea, My heart starts to beat oddly, like arrhythmia, It's no myth he lifted me up, and the gift of the cup at the last supper was super, This is just a hiccup in the pericope, on the path to a fantastic victory; if you get my gist, Particularly when within my fists is the grist of the bread of life, Dead tonight, but if what he said was right we'll be fed by light on Sunday. And one day this run may become a monumental moment of honour, on our knees at the atonement. Opponents were fumed as I performed the adornment of perfume, aromas were profuse in the tomb, and although there would be nothing to exhume when the stone was removed, I presumed on my own to ensure the pure fumes loomed. They were a boon to the power of the flowering bloom that would soon consume doom. With two of the women I helped him assume a costume of linen, like when the Beginning was clothed in flesh garment. Even then, robed men from the Orient anointed Him with ointment and an armament of ornaments; so at his murder, myrrh and dense frankincense, make intense fragrances. His mother's frank thanks are tense between tears. I interfered with a fierce: 'It is you who deserve gratitude For your son's piercing Servant attitude That's a dude whose side I'm on.' But I couldn't hide the despondent insecurity And it worried me, if not Him, whom would secure me the correspondent purity? Surely the preponderance of the populace, turned hurriedly, yearning horridly for opulence. Hence, he knew from the start when the herd heard hard words from the heart they'd depart … He'd say: "This is a saving saying: We must choose to loose either our murky merchandise or our perky paradise." And with that rare advice, he mounted the cross that spared our lives. But it has not amounted to a loss - He'll be repaired/revived! He said he would survive, hope has arrived, he provided an antidote to the ill of hate. Still, it's late, I'm feelin faint, there ain't nothing left to do but wait … and watch till he Resuscitates!"

After forty days of preparation It's time for celebration! For more importantly, Christ exorbitantly paid the reparations, Erased the separation of heaven and Creation. Thanks to our living King, Jesus, We know the thing we feared fiercest Has morphed from normality, to mere formality. And so we sing, "Mortality, Where's your sting? You stressed you were so adept and deft, But guess who's left bereft of breath with nothing left? Death! You're knocked onto your keister meister, Rocked at Easter Mocked cuz you're the least of worries. Beast hurry, scurry to the sidelines." Surely, since the Saviour died I'm Convinced that neither height nor depth Width or breadth Can keep his kids from his mighty grip. Our steps are kept in hand, His grand plans span from Creation's devastation to Revelation's elevation, From the eruption of corruption To the the inception of Sin's infection There was no correction to its unnatural selection No detection of perfection in Satan's section And despite the light, no defections. But Christ's life sufficed as the reconnection. As he died it supplied death's dissection. The insanity of the cross was an intersection Of humanity's calamity with The Boss's call for redirection. At the Fall we dropped the ball, but Jesus with the Interception! Is it? How Exquisite! And with it, the Spirit's visit a vivid vivisection. So now in recollection, your Election beckons. Today's the day to reckon, Will you accept Him? It's the Reception of the Resurrection.

It was three days since he was crucified, Hope died, convinced my Messiah lied. Imagine you spend three nice years of your life, To see it end in tears, dice, and human sacrifice. Our vision of a new era and our decision to follow him - an error. So we made tracks, on the way back home, to stay, in Emmaus. Sometimes the wisest thing to do is leave When you’re aggrieved for what you believe, When your hope to see people redeemed is demeaned. How can you remain where there is so much pain? What if the Kingdom’s not come?! What if Jesus is dead dead. What if Caesar will reign in terror? Perpetual horror. You’re a spiritual refugee Escaping, facing uncertainty, and danger. THEN ENTERS A STRANGER. “What are you guys discussing?” I try brushing it aside. Then I’m gushing wide, start rushing to tell him of Jesus’ crushing, How he died. Now I’m blushing red wine, Even mention how the women said he’s fine - risen. After being dead for certain. Closed curtains. He’s curt and says, “He rose like Moses wrote, And the prophets spoke.” Then he went off it, rolled through the scrolls as we strolled, Showed why the King endured the insanity of suffering, To bring a pure God and humanity together like cufflinks. Suddenly, we were on the brink of the village, I couldn’t help but think he was the realist. Concerned we had more to learn Before he could leave, I turned to say, “You’re amazing. Please, look what time of day it is, stay with us in Emmaus.” Though it was we who had need, He agreed. As we reclined at the dining table, We would find our minds became stable To finally recognize the Truth disguised. It wasn’t in what he spoke or said, but when he broke the bread our eyes realigned. Our desire reawakened a refining fire, We started discerning, Though disconcerting to take in, We were never forsaken, The whole time our hearts were burning.

Father of the Risen Christ, Give us wisdom and a vision to be lights Despite the night’s devices and vices. Let us be day-travellers on the way to Emmaus Jesus story-tellers and revellers who say he’s the Greatest. Make us stronger so we can share His story; Take us along on the journey so we can bear his glory. Give us provision to go out on mission, Live in us so others can make that decision. King of Creation hear our invitation, We sing with elation, appear here for visitation!