Mark 2:17


When I was approached and asked

To write poetry for tonight –

I said ‘yes’

Fairly eagerly,

You see,

Writing is something I have done since I was a child

And I have a passion for the page,

For the stage

And so imagine my shock

And self-directed rage

To later discover that I had

Next to zero poems about Jesus.

But then I realised that

Poetry is something I tend to write

When I



When I am miserable

And hungry for the melody of words

But Jesus has given me so many opportunities to rejoice

And so subconsciously,

(Not out of choice)

I had few poems to pick from.

So I wrote this one.


I’ve heard the story of

Jesus Christ

One hundred times.

But only yesterday did it break my heart.

And thankfulness

Is never silent,

So I want these words to be an offering to Him,

You’ve heard ‘thank you for the music’

Well Lord, thank you for these words.

Because only yesterday did I truly see

A God, yes, but a man who died for me

A man who was rejected

And scorned

Who was flayed, whose flesh was torn

For me.

A man who was prepared

To lose his own father

And his friends

For me?

We can all be self-deprecating

At the best of times,

And self-love and care are paramount



When put into perspective –

Who am I?

Who are you?

Who are we

To be loved by perfection

By someone we treated with rejection?

The notion itself is ridiculous;

Almost too good to be true,

Because of course,

I have flaws

And so do you.

I’ll get irritated by the loud people next door

And I’ll get angry or jealous

Or do something I regret,

And yet

When we look to Jesus’ example,

There is only ample

Evidence of love and forgiveness.



In all his perfection,

Never once despised us.

He alone was righteous without being



Was willing

To pray for his murderers

While they were doing the killing.

Consider this:

A man whose hands were to be nailed

Because we had failed.

Whose feet would be secured to blocks of wood.

You know that feeling when you get salt

Or lemon

In a papercut?

Now imagine vinegar being poured into open wounds

And envision a man

Who chose to do this –

all for you.

Jesus is the Word,

Who spoke no word.

Whose silence

Meant that I could be free.

So I can no longer be silent,

About a man who endured so much violence

Out of the goodness of His will,

And it’s all possible

Because Jesus didn’t come to earth

Because you were good;

“It is not the healthy who need a doctor,

but the sick.”

So even though I’ve messed up

He has chosen to free me from my sin.

And recently

I have cried every time

I’ve entered His presence,

I’ve been overwhelmed

By His realness.

And I initially despised it

Or tried hard to disguise it,

Thinking I was above this,

As though I,

The great Nikki Acquah,

Never cries.

But guess what?

Knowing Jesus is terrifying

Because he strips us from our pride,

Till we deny ourselves

And carry our own cross.

He is saviour, He is deliverer,

He’s the healer in whom I trust

And even Jesus wept

In John 11:35

Human pride

has killed so many,

I would rather exist in humility

for Jesus Christ.

So now when I think

Of how a man was tortured for love of me,

I allow myself to feel the emotion freely,

God I’m so thankful for your Word,

In many more ways than One,

I’m so thankful for the Father,

For the Spirit

And Your Son.


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