avatarBrandon Anderson

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Abstract

id="e7dd">I’ve wept, been angry, run away in fear and disgust, you called me back</p><p id="f118">I despaired and anguished and you were there, I didn’t even say thanks</p><p id="dc30">Oh God, is it too late to thank you, to repay, to do more than simply believe?</p><p id="38a7"><i>Today, you will be with me in paradise…</i></p><p id="a30b">Oh please don’t go, not now, not when I’m finally realizing who you are</p><p id="ea65">Don’t let it be too late, I finally begin to see the plan, the one you had all along</p><p id="2015">Let me take your place, let me be the one to pay, you cannot be on that cross!</p><p id="bf57"><i>Father, into your hands I commit my spirit…</i></p><p id="8a3e">Oh God, it is too late, I am too late, I cannot save you from taking my place</p><p id="bd47">I did it all, I take the blame, yet I’m free; guilt-stricken, but you forgive me</p><p id="695e">The plan is done, complete, but did you really have to die for me?</p><p id="aa26"><i>It is finished.</i></p><p id="e5cb">Yet only through your death I might live, through your pain might I be free</p>

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<p id="603b">You paid the ultimate price, offered your life that I might live for you one day</p><p id="fdb3">No wonder they call you the Savior…</p><p id="5cd4"><i>Follow Brandon on Medium or <a href="https://twitter.com/wheatonbrando">@wheatonbrando</a> for more sports, humor, TV, pop culture, and life musings. Visit the rest of Brandon’s <a href="https://readmedium.com/brandon-anderson-writing-archives-6b3ee1a29301#.6cteu050v">writing archives here</a>.</i></p><div id="cf02" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/thank-you-easter-poem-good-friday-jesus-christ-christianity-faith-thankfulness-poetry-he-is-risen-indeed-d0514d5f1957"> <div> <div> <h2>thank You</h2> <div><h3>An Easter poem</h3></div> <div><p></p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*EF2mvpWJpLZxwmA5Mmzqvg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

No Wonder

by Brandon Anderson

Wretched, worthless soul — broken, torn apart, standing at the Skull

Who am I, who are you, why do I stare helplessly at your torn feet

What are these tattered, helpless arms, lacerated chest, thorned head?

This is my body, which is broken for you…

But it cannot be you, I won’t let myself see you on that tree

Beaten and dejected, why you of all people hanging on the twisted cross

Hands, feet pierced as your precious blood spills slowly, slowly out!

This is the new covenant in my blood, poured out for you…

Who put you there, who thieves your every last breath as you hang there

Oh God, it was me, it is I who drove in the nails, your love holding you there

Me, me, oh wretched me, after all I have done ripping your world apart!

Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do…

I’ve wept, been angry, run away in fear and disgust, you called me back

I despaired and anguished and you were there, I didn’t even say thanks

Oh God, is it too late to thank you, to repay, to do more than simply believe?

Today, you will be with me in paradise…

Oh please don’t go, not now, not when I’m finally realizing who you are

Don’t let it be too late, I finally begin to see the plan, the one you had all along

Let me take your place, let me be the one to pay, you cannot be on that cross!

Father, into your hands I commit my spirit…

Oh God, it is too late, I am too late, I cannot save you from taking my place

I did it all, I take the blame, yet I’m free; guilt-stricken, but you forgive me

The plan is done, complete, but did you really have to die for me?

It is finished.

Yet only through your death I might live, through your pain might I be free

You paid the ultimate price, offered your life that I might live for you one day

No wonder they call you the Savior…

Follow Brandon on Medium or @wheatonbrando for more sports, humor, TV, pop culture, and life musings. Visit the rest of Brandon’s writing archives here.

Christianity
Easter
Poetry
Jesus
Faith
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