What I Survey

Have I gazed upon the Cross today?




Before me, a plaster cross embossed with scrollwork, rubbed rough at it's edges, almost white, almost shining.




There is the cross made of many broken pieces, blue and jagged. Rusted cross, bronze cross..




Another stacked , spikelike nails held together, burnt black, painted over gold...





But...have I looked upon the Cross today?




Golden chains innocently holding a small Italian cross made of blue bits,




Long silver chain, heavy, whose lone decoration, large silver cross, rose covered..




a bracelet, dangles one single cross,




another holds twelve, all designs of different crosses..





But...Have I contempleated the Cross today?




My heart looks wildly at the Calvary Cross, the Cross of all Crosses..the one with a Savior upon it.




My eyes have a hard time keeping their gaze for violence, blood, agony, torture..




Yet fixing my eyes on the Man there, the Savior, the Crucified Lamb....




I can look upon HIM because He is and was and had looked upon me. He saw me as I was, am and will be and He died for me anyway, no holds barred.





HIS sacrifice...the LAMB of GOD who takes away the sins of the world.









How about you, have you turned your face toward the cross today? any day?



Yes, it is hard and long ago, but the beauty still is in the love bled pure over arms of innocence...His crime was love and forgiveness. He is more than an expletive, more than a character...He was more than enough.




Enough forgiveness for us all, no one can contain His love...His grace, His mercy...though on this earth, He was shown none.




When I survey the wonderous cross,


on which the Prince of Glory died,


my richest gain I count but loss


and pour contempt on all my pride.



See from His head, His hands, His feet,


sorrow and love flow mingled down.


Did e're such love and sorrow meet?


Or thorns compose so rich a crown.



Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast


Save in the death of Christ, my king.


All the vain things that charm me most,


I sacrifice them to His blood.



Were the whole realm of nature mine,


That was a present far too small.


Love so amazing , so divine,



Demands my soul, my life, my all.



Isaac Watts, 1707