They say You loved the outcast soul,
The disabled, prostitute, and tax collector,
But what a strange sort of friend You were,
Rebuking even your companions as sinners.
They say You healed and fed the poor,
And condemned the religious leader,
Yet You commanded them to eat the bread of Your flesh,
Proclaiming Yourself the only way to the Father.
They say that those who seek will find,
That we must leave all else to follow You,
But I am tired and burdened with cares,
And I’m too distracted to read Your truth.
They say we must pray that Your kingdom come,
That Your will be done on earth as in heaven,
But I have been building my own little kingdom,
And loving the god of my imagination.
They say You came to bear our sins,
That You died to take our place,
But these words pass my lips so flippantly
And I scarcely feel my need for grace.
They say You had all power in heaven
To lift Yourself off of that tree,
And yet You chose to stay there,
Second by second, in unimaginable agony.
They say You were crucified and came to life the third day,
Though not in some pitiable myth in our hearts,
But in Your very body You walked and You ate.
They say that Thomas doubted that You were truly raised,
But do I believe that I, too, will be raised,
And with my own fingers Your wounds I will trace?

Just who do You say You are,
Prophet, Priest, and King?
Son of David, yet David’s Lord,
Messiah, yet it is Your death that sets us free?
You’re the second Adam, yet eternally begotten Son,
Submissive to the Father, but given all authority on earth.
You are God and also man,
A friend, and yet an offense—
Your jagged edges cut me, and yet Your love hems me in.

Who are You, Jesus, and what do You want of me?
Everything, that is all.
My LORD, my GOD, my risen KING.