Accusing Shame

The night is dark around me
All hopes I had are lost
My Lord, my precious Jesus
Is being led up to the cross.

His back is as a fresh-plowed field
Blood, like a river, flows
He stumbles up Mt. Calvary
His pain no respite knows.

I only watch as King of all
Is crowned with cruel thorn
I watch as Mary weeps below
And silently I mourn.

Why could I not stop them?
My Lord is going to die
How can His Father let this happen
And not intervene on high?

The Messiah, long-awaited
Has now reached His bitter end
And I can only watch them
Crucify my dearest Friend.

Suddenly, I hear a voice
Accusing from behind,
“A follower of Jesus, yes
I’m sure, I know his kind.”

“This man beside the fire
Followed Jesus everywhere.
He was a disciple.”
All begin to stare.

“No,” I shout,”it wasn’t me.
You do not understand.
I do not follow Jesus
Nor have I ever met the man.”

The accusations only grow
Twice more, I make my claim
“I do not know this Jesus.
I know nought but of His fame.”

The cock crows, slicing through the night
I flee, in fierce despair
A realization strikes me
I’m the one who put Him there.

He warned me this would happen
That I’d thrice deny Him- thrice!
But, I would not believe Him
Now I pay the awful price.

Oh, the depths of sorrow
The agononizing shame
Weeping, I confess I’ve caused
My Lord His death, His pain.