Who walked these streets where sinners lie broken and absorbed each curse and slander that was spoken?
Who ate and drank with silk-stocking thieves and wept with the widow as she bitterly grieved?
Who touched the untouchable, filled with disease and healed the eyes of the blind so his face they could see?
Who loved and lost and wrestled with doubt and anguished in sweat until blood came out?
Who was betrayed by a brother that he loved to the end and captured like a criminal, but committed no sin?
Who was beaten and tortured and put on display and mocked and spit on as they drug him away?
Who had nails drove through his hands and his feet and hung from a cross between two guilty thieves?
Who suffered and bled as his life slipped away and was placed in a cold dark tomb to stay?
Who descended into death and rose again in three days and walked the earth in victory from an empty grave?
Who ascended into power at the right hand of the father to begin, making all things new in him?
Who is coming again?
Who lifted our heads when darkness was all we could see and met us in flesh to set us free?
Who clothed us with righteousness and love so when the father looks upon us he sees his son?
Who is faithful and just to all who remain in the refuge of his holy name?
(Art= Swedish Painter: Marcus Larson 1825-1864)