What About The Thief On The Cross?
by Billy Wilson

The hammer fell, not once, but twice,
and time was wearing thin.
Sold to the highest bidder.
And bidding now was sin.

Held aloft, I looked, I glared,
and saw my master smile.
An evil grin that simply said,
"Mine in just a while."

The auctioneer's hand was raised
to fall a final time.
And death it seemed, I was to pay,
for sin, that fatal crime.

The price was high, too high for me.
Not half could I afford.
I'd thought of Jesus many times,
but never as my Lord.

I thought I'd play the field a bit,
and contemplate the offers.
As it turns, there is just one;
I'm seated with the scoffers.

Regrets, frustrations, anger, tears.
They're mine. I own them all.
The memory that haunts me now;
the clearness of His call.

'Twas sweet and music to my ears,
how could I resist?
My punishment's too great to bear.
I'm partner with the kiss.

I see a man below me now.
No thought towards my own.
They lift Him up beside me.
I clearly hear the groan.

At first I thought He'd cursed them,
this so-called King and Jew.
But from His lips, "Father, please,
They know not what they do."

I join my friend in jeering,
I shouted, "Jesus, I ...
I'm here for all the wrong I've done."
He looked and said, "And I."

Like arrows piercing through my soul,
His words again were sweet.
And as my eyes opened in hope,
I saw my Master weep.

"He's mine! He's mine! He's almost dead."
My evil master cries.
I begged to look to Jesus.
He whispered, "Paradise."

And Jesus said,
"Leave him alone. He's mine. You hear?
You've tried your everything.
He's chosen me, oh worthless grave.

And Hell, where is thy sting?"
Then Satan shrieked, "O' worthless King!
What price has to be paid?
His life is mine and payment's due.

What do you have to trade?"
"His life for mine," this Jesus said.
"His life, and all the rest.
For all who'll take me at my word.
And you may take God's best."

My heart was overflowing with joy.
Paradise was mine.
But in my place, subject to death;
His love His only crime.

I've never been so torn as this
between such joy and sorrow.
"O' Christ! Is this the only way?"
He smiled and said, "Tomorrow."

The deal was struck, and demons screams
of joy were heard throughout.
"We've won! We've won! The Christ is dead!
Our master's won the bout."

As Satan basked in all his pride,
Heaven was quiet and calm.
His angels longed for the revealing
of His Master plan.

A strange and eerie sound disturbed
their cries of victory.
A rumbling, spiritual and fierce.
To Hell, a tragedy.

A thought, a passing thought at most,
ran through his evil mind.
He said He'd build the temple,
and of a different kind.

"Three days. It's been three days." He screamed.
"Go summon all the brave.
We'll need the best. We'll need them all.
We're going to the grave."

Faces that were once so glad,
look now in disbelief.
The tomb is bare. They've lost their prize.
They've even lost the thief.