Lord Jesus,
You stood before Pilate,
the Judge of all creation, judged by fallen men.
Silent not out of weakness, but in sovereign strength.
You bore false accusations with eyes full of truth,
and hands that had only ever healed now bound in cruelty.
You, who shaped galaxies with a word,
stood beaten and bloodied by the very ones You came to rescue.
They mocked You with purple robes,
crowned You with thorns,
bowed in cruel jest
but it was my pride that twisted those thorns,
my rebellion that drove the nails,
my cowardice that kept me distant from the cross.
My heart aches at the horror of it all
not just the brutality of the scene,
but the sobering truth
I have loved lesser things.
I have traded the Eternal for the immediate.
I have chosen the crowd over the cross,
Pilate’s approval over Your pleasure.
Forgive me, Father.
Forgive me for every time I have whispered,
“I do not know the Man.”
For every time I washed my hands instead of lifting them in worship.
For every moment I walked away from conviction
and called it peace.
For every time I stood among the crowd shouting,
“Crucify Him!”
with my silence, my indifference, my compromise.
Jesus, You were pierced for my transgressions,
crushed for my iniquities.
You cried out in abandonment
“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” (Matt. 27:46)
So I would never be forsaken.
You took on my hell so I could receive Your heaven.
You became the curse so I might receive the blessing (Gal. 3:13).
How can I begin to grasp the mystery of such love?
You were stripped, so I could be clothed in righteousness.
You were wounded, so I could be healed.
You were condemned, so I could be called beloved.
Let me never grow numb to the cross.
Let it shake me again and again,
until every part of me surrenders.
Until I no longer cling to the fading treasures of this world,
but to the foot of that blood soaked beam.
Teach me to carry my own crosses with dignity,
not with bitterness but with joy.
Let suffering not make me hard, but holy.
Let trials not make me bitter, but bold.
Let pain not push me away from You,
but drive me deeper into Your wounds.
May I live crucified
to this world, to my flesh, to my pride.
Let my life be a living altar
where You are glorified, and I am hidden.
And when I am tempted to despair,
remind me: the cross was not the end.
The tomb did not hold You.
Death lost its grip.
And because You rose,
I now rise every day into new mercies, new life, new purpose.
You turned the ugliest moment in history
into the most beautiful act of redemption.
So take my mess, my wounds, my failures
and make them altars of grace.
I give You everything, Jesus.
Not just my sin, but my dreams.
Not just my guilt, but my gifts.
Not just my shame, but my story.
Make me Yours. Fully. Finally. Forever.
Worthy is the Lamb who was slain.
Worthy is the King who wore my crown of thorns.
Worthy is the Savior who said nothing so I could speak Your name boldly.
Worthy is the Son of God who gave His last breath so I could breathe eternity.
In Your holy, nail scarred, victorious name Jesus I pray,
Amen.