Too holy to be human,
yet clothed in flesh like mine
He cast a sinless shadow
on paths of Palestine.
Too ageless to be mortal,
yet blood and sweat and tears
He shed, as man of sorrows,
throughout His earthbound years.
Too tender to be tainted,
yet all our hate and greed
He claimed as His possession,
for which they made Him bleed.
Too truthful to be doubted,
yet lies are still retold:
“He did not rise on Sunday.”
“He’s in the grave still cold.”
Too gentle to be savage,
yet God Himself decreed:
He is the one appointed
to judge our brutal breed.
Too streetwise to be suckered,
yet some say He’s naïve.
He knows though all about you:
He knows if you believe.