Gethsemane ;The oil press

Father take this cup I don’t think I can do this I’ve had enough My tears are all dried up I’m sweating blood I’m distressed My soul is weary Minds a mess Body is aching Get this weight of my chest I can’t breath I’m shaking I’m failing this test Jesus how did you get this done And God how could you send your son Not for the righteous but for the filthy one? The sinner not the saint not my own but thy will be done When he was pressed righteous blood seeped from his head Like the perfect lamb to the slaughter to the cross he was led The greatest rescue mission played out in his death Yet we still try to create an escape plan in our head When I’m pressed I push back and my sweat turns to tears I’m brittle and bruised after all of these years Of striving of trying to shut out my fears Of screaming and crying and covering my ears When I’m pressed I leak sorrow, sadness, despair I’m left empty and wanting my soul laid bare I look for you now but I don’t see you there And I wonder just how you could say that you care When I’m pressed I am blinded By pain and by grief In emotional turmoil I can hardly speak My heart worn out, my countenance weak Is that what you meant when you said: Blessed are the meek? When I’m pressed you simply ask me to give you my oil You take my seed and you plant it in life giving soil You free me from labour from striving and toil You fought the battle, you give me victory and I delight in the spoils You were pressed and your blood washed me clean as snow You were beaten, you were bruised, they drew lots for your clothes Your body broken so mine could heal, oh the great love you have shown A life laid down for me, a greater love I’ve never known