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My Hands


My hands were all torn
The blood flowed from them
They had woven the crown
For the One we called “Him”.

Did you see “Him”
As He walked through the street?
Did you see “Him” touch
The crippled man’s feet?

Yes, this Man had such power
And Spirit—I’d ne’er before seen.
Some folks seemed to love Him
And others were mean.

My job as a soldier
Was tested today.
I beat Him, I hit Him,
Ugly words I did say.

I spit on Him—I mocked Him
Yet, my cold darkened heart
Was not easily stirred.
I’d sure do my part!

He didn’t fight back
He only groaned from within
And once I thought I heard…
“Father, forgive him.”

When the beating was done,
Someone cried out
“Every king needs a crown
Let’s all hail and bow down!”

I took thorny branches
And a circle I wove.
These thorns seemed to be sharper
Than what I’d been told.

“A crown for my lord!”
I mocked in loud voice
“Here is the great crown
He’s the king of our choice!”

“Let’s place a reed in His hand
Every king needs a staff!”
The purple robe was pulled down
“There’s the crown!”—we all laughed.

With this, the crowd cheered
And with fun, they bowed down.
They made so much noise
And from Him, not one sound.

I looked down at my hands;
They had so much pain.
They were covered in blood
No relief I could gain.

Was this blood mine?
Was this all from the thorns?
Or was this His blood?
As His back was all torn?

Deep inside I could feel
A bleeding rush from within.
I felt so much anguish
And grief for my sin.

I looked up at the cross
And again saw His blood.
I saw His meek Spirit
And His eyes filled with love.

He looked down at me
With eyes full of kindness.
Even through His deep pain
He was forgiving and gracious.

Again, I looked down
To the Blood on my hands
Fell down on my knees
He’d changed all my plans.

A desperate cry, I cried out
And had such great awe
For this Man on the Cross;
There was not yet one flaw.

This time, I cried “Jesus,
You indeed are the King!
Your blood is on my hands
I’ve committed such sin!”

“Please forgive me for weaving
The thorns in your crown
Take the blood from my hands.”
Throngs of people still ‘round.

As I watched Him suffer
As He took my sin
His love and compassion
Flowed deep from within.

I then looked back down—to my hands
No more blood!
They were completely washed clean
By His unselfish love.

I then joined the seekers
Who were following Him.
My friends turned and said,
“Now, what’s wrong with him?”

If you too have hands
That are stained with His blood
Call now on this Jesus
He’ll cause a deep flood

Of grace and of mercy
Deep down in your soul.
Look to the cross!
And make heaven your goal!

Cry out for His mercy
He’ll hear your heart’s cry.
Bend your knees and bow down
To the King up on high.

He’ll take all your pain
And the blood from your hands.
He’ll cleanse your heart
And give you new plans.

His Spirit is waiting
They’ll be no more strife.
In Jesus, there’s power
In His blood there is Life!

Let Him be the choice
Let Him be the King.
From your sins He will wash you
Great joy He will bring.

Let Him wash your hands, friend.
Let Him take your stain.
Your hands can be clean;
New life you can gain!

“Thank You, Jesus!”
Evangeline Anderson, ©2004

 (This poem was inspired by the back cover of the January/February 2004 Remnant.)

“Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the common hall, and gathered unto him the whole band of soldiers. And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe. And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews! And they spit upon him, and took the reed, and smote him on the head. And after that they had mocked him, they took the robe off from him, and put his own raiment on him, and led him away to crucify him.” Matthew 27:27-31

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