Poetry

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The Long Walk Home

Walking to Gethsemane’s garden
To pray for the strength He’d need
Led away by Roman soldiers
Betrayed by a disciple’s greed

Walked to the Governor Pilate
Then sent to Herod and back
He gave them no cause for violence
Yet he was beaten, mocked and smacked

They walked Him to the whipping post
Where the whip did slash and slice
He walked to Pilate’s judgment seat
Knowing He was denied thrice

He was called “King of the Jews”
And given a crown of thorns
They pressed it into his loving brow
And continued to throw vicious scorns

He was walked to Golgotha
Carrying His cross to this hill
Enduring the pain and humiliation
So the prophecy may be fulfilled

On the cross they nailed his wrists
And then his precious feet
That had walked to this deadly end
No worse death could he meet

The soldiers dropped the cross in a hole
And his body’s pain was anew
He gasped for air to breathe the words
“Forgive them, they know not what they do.”

They walked Him to a borrowed tomb
And laid his body to rest
Soldiers were posted and the door was sealed
Death would put Him to the test

Three days in the earthly grave
And the women walked to the site
But their eyes could not believe the vision
Of the angels clothed in light

The guards were rendered helpless
The stone was rolled away
“He is not here, for He is risen”
The angel was heard to say

He walked again beside his apostles
He taught them of the coming days
He restored his wayward lamb Peter
Who would never again go astray

Then He walked straight to heaven
He prepares a place for His own
He pleads the case of his children
Until we arrive safely home

Could anyone be given such a perfect gift
Could we ever be worthy of His best
He walked the road of Death, and won
That we may have eternal rest



Mark A. Bradley

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