Roars of a Lioness

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The Roars

It Is Finished

Posted on April 18, 2014 at 1:20 PM

Hey y'all!

It's Good Friday, the day we choose to really reflect upon and remember Jesus' death on the Cross for our sins. Here's a poem that I wrote earlier this week that I felt should be shared today; It Is Finished.


The cross hanging from my neck is heavier than anyone will ever know.

When I wear it,

It's not my status as a Christian that I'm attempting to show.

How could I ever show-off my salvation?

Like it's something I earned?

Like I'm special?

Like I just happened to win the lottery because I'm lucky?

For none of that is true,

Wearing the cross for that purpose?

It would be accessorising my outfits with a lie.

A lie built off pride and greed and the need to be seen as someone worth seeing.

But I'm not.

I'm not worth the beauty in a smile,

The warmth in a hug,


The measure of my worth is an eternity of pain.

Of drought with no rain.

Work and toil with no gain.

A never-ending cycle of being slain.

With light running from the darkness around me that reigns.

And yet, here I am.

Wearing a smile.

Receiving love.

Promised an eternity of life in a kingdom of light.


The cross hanging from my neck is heavier than anyone will ever know.

For it bears the weight of every sin that I owe;

A debt made of sins from yesterday, today and tomorrow.

It reminds me that this debt?

I would've had to pay.

This weight?

Is what I should've been carrying.

My sin?

Was mine and done wilfully.

Free will to sin is slavery masked as freedom.

A wolf in sheep's clothing.

A demon wearing an angel's halo to hide it's horns.


He said:

It is finished.


I was free.


New concept for me.

No debt?

In joy I wept,

When I realised the grace that had been bestowed on me.

Calvary was my day of doom.

Justice said that eternal damnation was my birthright.

And Jesus said:

It is finished.

His death took mine.

His humiliation removed my shame.

His pain brought my healing.

For every time He was whipped, My tears were wiped away.

His blood

Covered mine

In such a way,

That I was then declared pure.

The cross I wear?

Is bloodier than it appears.

It's been drenched in innocent blood and guilty tears.

That the villain should live?

That the murderer be set free?

That the intentional sinner be intentionally forgiven?

That's what happened to me.

How dare my bridge from death to life,

The object that bore the ultimate sacrifice,

Be seen as an accessory?

The cross is not pretty and it's not cute.

And if it is only seen as something to complete an outfit,

Then the whole world needs to go on mute.


Be still.

Turn off all distractions.

Quiet your mind.

Silence the fleshly desires of your heart and listen.


To the voice of your creator, speaking light into the darkness at the beginning of time.


To that exhaling of breath that brought our ancestors to life.

Listen to God's voice

Crying out

Where Are You?

Knowing full well,

That they were not in that place of harmony with Him anymore.

And then listen to each anguished cry, each broken heart, each last breath before death, each family torn apart.

Listen to what sin has done.

Listen to what came of Adam and Eve's rebellion.

The countless cycle of murder, looting, rape, deception, betrayal.

Over and over again.


To the constant judgement and grace being bestowed.

Again and again.

And then hear,

His last three words

Before He died.

It is finished.

Our spiral of destruction ?


Our eternal sentence of suffering?


Our slavery to sin?


It is finished.

That is what the Cross means.

It is finished.

For me.

For you.

For anyone born into this world.

It is finished.

For when you see the story of humanity

And the miserable ending it deserved

And realise that that ending was finished on the Cross

Marked instead with a beginning of a life with God

You run to your Creator's arms

And His love promises to never let you go.

And He calls you His child

He's now your Father.

Jesus, His Son,

Your Saviour.

The Holy Spirit,

Your Helper.

You return to the family of the Trinity

Their love extending towards infinity

And beyond ...

What can be dreamed or wished or imagined.


On the cross,

He said;

It is finished.

Three days later,

He Resurrected.

And our souls will never be the same.

Look into your pain,

Into your strife,

Into your broken heart,

Into your wrecked family,

Into your illness,

Into the utter turmoil of your life.

And hear His words again today:

It Is Finished 

Categories: Poetic Roars

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