Were You There?

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh! Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?
Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?
Oh! Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?

Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?
Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?
Oh! Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?

I remember singing this old Negro Spiritual as a child.  What would it have been like if I had been at the foot of the cross watching my Jesus die? 

Would I, through my tears, have watched him breathe His last—willing Him to breathe just one more time?  Would my body have ached, knowing that His pain was unbearable?  Would I have been the one to offer Him something to numb his anguish and assuage his thirst?  Would the blood from His wounds have flowed upon me?

Would the echo of the hammer that was used to nail his wrists, assault my ears with its incessant ring, ring, ring? Would I see His body sag, unable to hold His weight, as they raised His criminal’s cross? Would I hear him gasp as He held my sin?

Would I stand crying as His lifeless body was laid in a tomb—a wealthy stranger’s tomb?  Would I look at the darkness around me and feel my darkness within?  Would I understand that my Jesus died my death for me?

Would I stay, and wait, for His promise of Resurrection?  Would I believe He could do what He said?  Would I recognize my risen Lord as He promised me new Life in Him?

Sometimes this causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?