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On a hill a lonely cross there stood,
where a man was once condemned.
They flogged and scourged him,
nailed his hands on wood,
hung him high, and watched his end.
How could this agony of pain,
with their mocking taunts and jeers,
bring healing, peace, and hope of gain
down to me across the years?
O Jesus, you have saved me,
your death has met the price:
for all my sins and evils
are paid for by your sacrifice.
In that painful death at soldiers' hands
a divine exchange you made:
you gave your life
to meet the law's demands
which required a death be paid.
For all my selfish deeds, my strife,
and the good I've failed to do
made me unfit for heav'nly life,
and condemned me, but for you.
O Jesus, you have saved me...
Was it right that you
should meet the cost
of my sins, my hates and flaws?
Surely it's me who should be
dead and lost
for neglect of righteous laws?
But when you died upon that tree,
then you bought me for your own.
Your covenant now covers me:
I belong to you alone.
O Jesus, you have saved me...
Copyright © John Hartley 2005.
The tune is on our web site.
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The Christian Church isn’t short of songs about the cross, but there’s always room for more! I wanted to express something of the horror of crucifixion, the most unpleasant way known to man of putting someone to death. But I wanted to go beyond this, for Jesus’ death isn’t just a horror story. I wanted to ask and answer two questions.
1. Why do we Christians think that Jesus’ death is so important for bringing us to God? Because of the doctrine of substitutionary atonement. Jesus stood in for us to take the punishment for sin which should have been ours. His sacrifice paid for my evils and bought me life.
2. Could it possibly be just for a substitute to bear my punishment? After all, we don’t usually punish one person for a crime committed by another. The bible’s answer to this is that when I come to Jesus, he and I are linked by a covenant which means I am no longer independent: he has purchased me by his death and made me his own.
Passiontide, reminding us again our Lord’s death, should fill us with wonder that he thought we were worth this terrible price.
John Hartley.
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