Blood of Jesus

 Here is a poem that weaves together the scriptural themes of the blood of Jesus, its purpose, and its power.

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### Covenant in Crimson

Not the blood of goats, a temporary stain,

Nor a symbol, a metaphor, a weak refrain;

But a real and terrible, precious, and pure flood,

The very life of the incarnate God.

This is the blood the scripture holds so dear,

The scarlet thread from Genesis to here.

In the Garden, Your voice called out in the cool of day,

But Adam hid his shame, and turned away.

Then an animal fell, its skin a covering grace,

A first dark hint of blood in that holy place.

In Egypt’s night, a terrifying scene,

On lintel and doorpost, a mark of lamb’s blood, unseen.

“And when I see the blood,” You swore with might,

“I will pass over you, and spare you from the night.”

A promise of shelter, a covenant of dread,

Foreshadowing the true and perfect Lamb ahead.

Then on the Mount, the Law in fire gave,

And life for life was what the statute craved.

“Without the shedding of blood,” the words declare,

“There is no remission for sin’s despair.”

The altar ran red, year after year,

A constant reminder of guilt and fear.

But the prophets saw a day, a mystery profound,

A suffering Servant on whom our sins were found.

“He was pierced for our transgressions,” the ancient scroll told,

By His stripes, our story of healing would unfold.

Then He came.

In the cup of the Passover, He spoke it plain:

“This is my blood of the covenant, poured out for many,

For the forgiveness of sins.” Not a drop, not any,

Would be wasted. It was the promise, the seal,

The end of all offerings, the eternal, real deal.

On the hill of the skull, where the shadows grew long,

The final Passover Lamb, infinitely strong,

Said, “It is finished.” The veil was torn in two,

The blood of the cross made a way, wholly new.

No more to a temple, to an altar of stone,

But to a throne of grace, because of what He has done.

We overcome, Revelation’s song is sung,

“By the blood of the Lamb,” from a cleansed tongue.

So this is the blood, O God, we plead and recall:

The blood that answers for Adam’s fall.

The blood that speaks a better word than Abel’s cry,

Of mercy and grace, from a throne on high.

The blood that washes the darkest sin white as snow,

The blood that our worthless lives can make glow.

We have nothing to offer for the wrongs we have wrought,

But this, Father God, is the battle You fought.

We stand in its fountain, we hide in its flow,

This ancient, eternal, blood-stained Yes.

And we know.

Amen.