Pharisees and Sadducees

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 How funny, those flawed ones deemed The Perfect, a liar, accusing Him day and night. 

My Lord, flawless, pure, from heaven's fire.

With the Father ere the world's inception,

Creator of all, despised by His creation.


Trees formed on the third day,

From thee, timber hewn for the cross's pain.

Slain by those He lovingly made,

Imperfect ones against the Perfect laid.


I am weak, yet He stands strong,

In doubt, His faithfulness prolongs.

Lust, anger, pride within my soul reside,

Love, grace, humility His heart does provide.


My life He took, His life He gave,

They called Him flawed, a label so grave.

Perfection entered this imperfect sphere,

His blood, redemption's price so clear.


How foolish to doubt His wondrous might,

Claiming Beelzebub fueled His healing light.

His holy testimony, rejected with disdain,

Eternal life's offer, dismissed in vain.


Blinded they are, too far to truly see,

Sad souls unaware of His majesty.

But I shall rejoice in my God's salvation,

Dancing in His temple, my soul's elation. Amen.

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