By IPHC Missionary Russell Board
Continental Director, Asia/Pacific Region
Where turn the eyes of Jesus as He hangs upon the cross?
They turn to me as if to implicate me in His loss.
He stares into my eyes, then deeper still into my soul;
Voracious selfishness has made it into a black hole.
He knows full well the turbulent iniquity within;
He bears the burden of my guilt, He slumps beneath my sin.
My eyes recoil at Jesus there impaled upon the tree;
But how can I not look at Him Whose eyes are turned to me?
The ugliness of sin disfigures Jesus head to toe;
Excruciating pain extorts a labored gasp of woe.
Disgrace and shame and brutal wounds provoke my tears to fall;
Yet beauty indescribable somehow adorns it all.
His eyes do not accuse, in fact they shine with holy grace,
Not wrath but deep compassion is displayed upon His face.
I take the blame, His eyes convey, and this will be enough
For you and me forever to live in the bonds of love.
My death is swallowed up in His, His life flows into mine,
As I partake of broken bread and sip the sacred wine.