In times of late, I've heard some say
That Christ sacrificed nothing coming to the cross.
"He died," they say, "but He rose again.
How could that be a loss?"
So they say it was not a sacrifice.
This is wrong: I know for sure;
And I will tell you why.
He left a paradise with a Father He loved
And came to earth just to die.
Still they say it was not a sacrifice.
He first awoke in a smelly manger;
He was laid in a bed of itchy straw.
He began his work of thirty-odd years
Just waiting to die once for all.
Yet they say it was not a sacrifice.
A carpenter's son, He worked like a man.
His hands became rough and His face became red.
Though blistered and bruised and heated and such,
"Not My will, but Thine," He said.
But they say it was not a sacrifice.
When He began ministry, things only got worse.
Everywhere and in everyone, He saw the curse of sin.
He was rejected by His home, moved by grief.
He wept at the loss of His friend.
Yet they say it was not a sacrifice.
When he turned merely thirty-three,
Along with maybe a half or so,
He was quickly rejected by those He loved,
Betrayed by a liar so low.
Still they say it was not a sacrifice.
So He was put on trial, counter to the law.
The authorities were bent against His side.
He was condemned by His Truth spoken plainly.
For His Godhead He refused to deny.
Yet they say it was not a sacrifice.
He was beaten and bruised, handled by heartless guards.
A whip like none other tore the skin off His back.
A purple robe and thorny crown were forced on His body.
His exposed flesh was stung by the fabric, as a fact.
But they say it was not a sacrifice.
He was mocked by those He came to save.
They spat on, slapped, and ridiculed Him.
He could've called angels to slay them all,
But He endured, to forgive our sin.
Yet they say it was not a sacrifice.
To make it worse, He carried a cross
From the Via Dolorosa further on.
Only He collapsed beneath its weight,
Praying for the strength to go on.
Still they say it was not a sacrifice.
He finally arrived at Golgotha, the hill of His doom.
The nails were driven deep in His wrists.
As a final spike secured His feet, they lifted Him up on the cross.
To the point of bleeding, He clenched His fists.
Yet they say it was not a sacrifice.
For the next six hours, He hung on that cross.
Dying and crying, He held out for our salvation.
He slowly suffocated, killed under His own weight.
The people said, "Better one man should die than the nation."
But they say it was not a sacrifice.
Next in line came the wrath of God, poured fully out on His Son.
Every thought, every word, every action ever done wrong was brought to His guilt.
All our sin flashed through His mind as He took possession of it.
The judgment of the Father was executed fully, as a sword driven in to the hilt.
Yet they say it was not a sacrifice.
At the six hour mark, Jesus brought up His head.
He cried out in pain and said, "It is finished!"
Under the strain of the cross and the stress of God's wrath,
His heart ruptured, and all our sin with it.
Still they say it was not a sacrifice.
So though it is true that He rose from the dead,
Proving His claim that He was God,
The sacrifice was real, as any can attest.
It was by no means some fraud.
Yes, it was a sacrifice.
So I say, regardless of what the world may claim,
Since Jesus gave it all, and all to Him I owe, I say,
And since He endured the worst all for me, I say,
And since He is the greatest One I know, I say,
I say it was a sacrifice.
Not only a sacrifice, but the greatest ever given.
Yes, Jesus, it was a sacrifice.