Friday, April 10, 2009

My Savior & My God,...Died

This from 9mark blog:

"Gethsemane is not a field of study for our intellect. It is a sanctuary of our faith." Lord, forgive us for the times we have read about Gethsemane with dry eyes.

-- Frederick S. Leahy in "The Cross He Bore"

If your eyes need wetting, listen (or listen again) to this sermon by CJ Mahaney -- The Cup

I pray that the death of Christ is something that always brings tears to my eyes when I consider what happened that day,...the day my Savior Jesus Christ was killed at the hands of sinful men,...the day that He willingly laid down His life,...the day the Father was pleased to bruise Him.

I simply wanted to share with you a piece of artwork I did along time ago one year when I was meditating on passion week:

"let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which does so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God."
- Hebrews 12:1-2


Drawn October 2003 - charcoal and paper, based on a sculpture by Nino di Simone

And this my favorite hymn during this season sun by Fernando Ortega (and below that my favorite verses from that hymn [note not all are in the below video]):

O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown;
O sacred Head, what glory, what bliss till now was Thine!
Yet, though despised and gory, I joy to call Thee mine.

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners’ gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior! ’Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee, Thou noble countenance,
Though mighty worlds shall fear Thee and flee before Thy glance.
How art thou pale with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How doth Thy visage languish that once was bright as morn!

My burden in Thy Passion, Lord, Thou hast borne for me,
For it was my transgression which brought this woe on Thee.
I cast me down before Thee, wrath were my rightful lot;
Have mercy, I implore Thee; Redeemer, spurn me not!

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.

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