Jesus was a Man's Man

If you read this you will no doubt discover that I am not a poet. I wrote this essay (or whatever you call it) in response to a friends observation that many praise songs have an undesirable effect of feminizing Jesus. Lyrics that describe Jesus as being beautiful and lovely leave some men a little hesitant to join in worship of our Lord and King. Now make no mistake, the acts of Jesus are beautiful to me. However, I would not walk up to a man on earth and tell him he is beautiful to me no matter what his actions. I am not trying to say that anything is overtly wrong with our praise songs. I am just trying to give outlet to a little manly expression of who I think Jesus was and is.

Incidentally I am writing this from the perspective that Jesus was a builder and not a carpenter. This idea comes from the translation of the Greek word tecton which can be translated builder, and if a builder then he worked with stone more than wood. I will not debate this, I am just letting you know where I am coming from.

My Jesus, My Savior

A back, made strong by years of lifting stone, wood, and earth. A back striped with open soars from searing lashes, mercilessly applied; now bearing my sin and my cross.

Arms, hard and strong from working as a builder, chiseling stone, sawing wood, driving nails, leveling the soil; now spread out in love across a cruel wooden beam. Spread to show his love for God and for me.

A brow, weathered with the sun, often furrowed with concern, always glowing with the glory of God; now pierced with wicked thorns shedding the blood that atones for my sin.

Hands, calloused and ruff, a testimony to a life of industry, a life of hard work, always ready to help in times of need. Feet, dirty and dry, feet that walked miles in life and ministry. Both brutally spiked to a hard instrument of death, all for you and me.

Legs, chiseled and powerful, legs used in carrying heavy loads, accustomed to running for work and play; now trying to lift my saviors weight for one more breath as He dies for me.

Three days:

A back, strong and straight, scarred but healed, a testimony to the faithfulness of the Father who raised him from the dead.

Arms, indescribably powerful, capable of carrying untold millions to heaven. Once spread in anguish; now spread in acceptance of all who believe.

A brow, once covered in blood, twisted in agony; now luminously crowned by my God because of his obedience and sacrifice.

Hands, once pierced and bloody; now beckoning the lost to come. “Don't labor in vain, trying to earn what can never be earned” they say, “the victory has already been won. Come have your share.”

Legs and feet, once shaking in excruciating pain; now stalwart and true, confidently standing in the gap for you and for me.

James Brown
November 9th, 2008