A crown of thorns is forced upon his brow,
His scalp is sliced and both his temples torn;
The skin gives way like dirt beneath a plow,
A crown of thorns.
The soldiers laugh. In derision they adorn
His shoulders with a scarlet robe and bow
Before His feet. They hit him, taking turns
With clubs and whips, but little do they know
This is the King of kings they treat with scorn.
One day he will be wreathed with gold but now,
A crown of thorns.
This load of guilt that weighs upon my mind
and chills the natural movements of the heart,
these cares that burn, and memories that bind,
that grip my soul and make me stand apart [...]
As wise servants invest their time and gold,
So good things come to those who work and pray;
Faithfulness is the fruit that yields tenfold [...]
I find it impossible," says N. T. Wright, "to imagine a growing and maturing church or Christian doing without the Psalms. And that is why (to be frank) a fair amount of contemporary Christian music has worried me for some time" (165). In this latest offering from Tom Wright, both individual Christian devotion and corporate […]
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back, Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning If I lack’d anything. “A guest,” I answer’d, “worthy to be here”; Love said, “You shall be he.” “I, the unkind, the ungrateful? […]
