Speechless at Calvary

Something strange happened to me today. As I led our Good Friday service, a simple affair with the Lord's Supper and a short exposition of Isaiah 53, my voice broke during one of the hymns. The words wouldn't come out. It wasn't the after effect of some cold or virus, but rather the words we were singing. We celebrate the Lord's death at Salem at least twice a month, and we preach it every week. Why then did it so upset me?

We can never tire of the knowledge that Christ died as our substitute. That he was wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities. And this morning, it was like I heard it for the very first time. 
Here are the words I was singing from Paul Gerhardt's hymn, translated by John Wesley:
 1 EXTENDED on a cursed tree,
Besmeared with dust, and sweat, and blood,
See there, the king of glory see!
Sinks and expires the Son of God.

2 Who, who, my Saviour, this hath done?
Who could thy sacred body wound?
No guilt thy spotless heart hath known,
No guile hath in thy lips been found.

3 I, I alone, have done the deed!
'Tis I thy sacred flesh have torn;
My sins have caused thee, Lord, to bleed,
Pointed the nail, and fixed the thorn.

4 The burden, for me to sustain
Too great, on thee, my Lord, was laid;
To heal me, thou hast borne my pain;
To bless me, thou a curse wast made.

5 In the devouring lion's teeth,
Torn, and forsook of all, I lay;
Thou sprang'st into the jaws of death,
From death to save the helpless prey.

6 Saviour how shall I proclaim?
How pay the mighty debt I owe?
Let all I have, and all I am,
Ceaseless to all thy glory show.

7 Too much to thee I cannot give;
Too much I cannot do for thee;
Let all thy love, and all thy grief,
Graven on my heart for ever be!

8 The meek, the still, the lowly mind,
O may I learn from thee, my God,
And love, with softest pity joined,
For those that trample on thy blood!

9 Still let thy tears, thy groans, thy sighs,
O'erflow my eyes, and heave my breast,
Till loose from flesh and earth I rise,
And ever in thy bosom rest.