Justified

It was as though a thousand layers Of fraud and murder and affairs, Each wrapped around his shrinking heart, And hard as steel, had come apart. He hung there silent, numb and hoarse From screaming at the pain. The coarse And filthy language of his soul Dried scarlet on the splintered pole. No strength remained to comprehend How these few, quiet words could rend The wicked wineskins of his life Where every other moral knife Had snapped like twigs against the rock.

The man had heard the soldiers mock The Lord, and joined them at the first. He saw him keep his peace, and thirst, And with this tongue he whipped and sliced The folly of a feeble Christ. And then by some strange providence Of grace, above his impudence He heard the word of Life—not preached, But whispered low; and that it reached His ear above the blasphemy Of his own lips was gift, as free As gifts could ever be. He heard Above the mockery the word: "O Father, please, I beg of you, Forgive, they know not what they do." A curse, half-formed beneath his teeth, Fell silent to the ground beneath, Like slaving ropes and prison chains, Like fears and rage and guilt and pains. But then the lurid memories Like waves from demon-laden seas Broke savagely against the light Of hope.

The lad had learned to fight For garbage just to stay alive Before he reached the age of five. When he was nine he stabbed a man, A beggar, just to have his pan, Then threw up in the alley where He ran to count the coins. He'd wear A holy garment like a priest When he was grown and rob the feast And desecrate the holy meals. And set the stage for his appeals To lonely women in their grief, Until they learned he was a thief, And he escaped to Jericho. He formed a group called Ganavo And worked the wealthy routes until The roads to Jericho were still, And Roman legions searched the woods And found him drunk among his goods.

The prosecutor's case was built With ease. He bragged about his guilt, And cursed his way from court to cross Without remorse, as if the loss Of his own soul to endless woe Were sealed, and he would have it so.

But now his vicious mouth was still, And something deep within his will, Begotten by the quiet prayer Of this reputed King, was there As new and strange to wickedness As orchards in the wilderness. And from his lips there came a word That none from him had ever heard. He turned his head so he could see: "Jesus, is there a hope for me?" At first he feared the Lord was dead. But then he lifted up his head To see the fruit of his travail, And softly spoke around the nail, "Today with me in Paradise You'll reign beside the feeble Christ." And when he heard the Savior die, He gave his agonizing cry: "My God! My God! How can this be! Why hast thou not forsaken me?" And do we not this time of year Repeat these words with godly fear, And stand in awe of sovereign grace That put a God in sinners' place, And turned his head to hear our plea! Who is a pardoning God like thee!

The awesome truth of candle three: A sinner justified and free!

Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsBibleVersion = "ESV"; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsLinksOpenNewWindow = true; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsLibronixLinkIcon = "dark"; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsNoSearchTagNames = [ "h1", "h2", "h3" ]; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsCssOverride = true; Logos.ReferenceTagging.tag(); By John Piper. © 1985 Desiring God. Website: desiringGod.org