Oh, that sad day of loss.

Who is this man, 

Who has not a fan!?

_

Arrested, beaten, mocked, scourged,

Treated so poorly, hatred surged. 

Who is this man, 

Who has not a fan!?

–

One, two, and finally three,

Nailed to that awful bloodstained tree. 

Who is this man,

Who has not a fan!?

–

Words from his own lips ringing,

“Forgive,” “I thirst,” “it is finished,” stinging.

Who is this man,

Who has not a fan!?

–

He went limp and bowed His head, 

They pierced His side to be sure, dead.

Who is this man,

Who has not a fan!?

–

Blood-soaked, beaten, and bruised, 

Who is this man they abused?

No question they all hated,

For they brutally mutilated. 

–

They buried Him in His own tomb,

For the owner gave Him all the room.

Who was this man that few would give honor,

And is now such a sad afflicted goner?

–

A few days pass when a rumor starts running,

That same man’s tomb found stunning!

For no body was there, 

And yet they searched everywhere.

–

Who was this man,

That seems did have a fan?

Someone must have stolen! 

That’s it, for no tomb on its own will open. 

–

So many questions unanswered,

Puzzled, confused, I just want answered. 

Who was this man? 

Maybe he had a fan. 

–

The whole city is on edge, 

Some saying resurrection full-fledged!

Who? This man. Surely not!

All wrong is what they got. 

–

The guards all fell asleep is what I heard,

Much more likely, but still absurd. 

I think I’ll go fishing, to clear my head.

Men just don’t rise from the dead! 

–

Those men in that boat sure look familiar,

But from where I just can’t remember.

Oh, I know! They were His men,

So they didn’t believe it either then.

–

Who is that man along the shore?

Seems he’s speaking, maybe more.

I can hear Him now, “cast on the other side,”

I don’t believe it — did He just provide?

–

Who is this man? I know Him from somewhere,

I wonder, but why I don’t really care. 

One in the boat looks excited, elated. 

Was this man not anticipated? 

–

Push from my thoughts and go back to town,

I can’t seem to escape — it’s all going round. 

The man from the cross? Surely not! 

He was abused, killed — He was got. 

–

Pentecost will surely hush all this mess, 

Once everyone has had time to assess. 

I can hear quite the chatter, 

I go, follow, results? I shatter. 

–

I know that man! The one who dove from the boat!

Yet here he stands, with shocking words in throat!

Saying things I can’t believe,

I find them hard to retrieve. 

–

The man from the cross? 

Who endured such hostility, such loss?

The Christ, you say? 

Surely not! Not this day!

–

Yet he connects prophecy, 

He shows clearly, concisely.

“This Jesus whom crucified,”

Is HE, One honored and dignified. 

–

What will you say? What will you do? 

Now that you know, it is really true. 

Remember the cross, 

Oh that sad day of loss. 

–

The very Son of God, 

Worthy of praise, glory, all should laud. 

Will you accept the Man on the cross?

I’m afraid, my friend, if not — it is your loss. 

–

(Written in my studies, 5/18/22)