Getty Music - Power Of The Cross Lyrics
Lyrics
“Oh, to see the dawn
Of the darkest day:
Christ on the road to Calvary.
Tried by sinful men,
Torn and beaten, then
Nailed to a cross of wood.
CHORUS:
This, the pow’r of the cross:
Christ became sin for us;
Took the blame, bore the wrath—
We stand forgiven at the cross.
Oh, to see the pain
Written on Your face,
Bearing the awesome weight of sin.
Ev’ry bitter thought,
Ev’ry evil deed
Crowning Your bloodstained brow.
Now the daylight flees;
Now the ground beneath
Quakes as its Maker bows His head.
Curtain torn in two,
Dead are raised to life;
”Finished!” the vict’ry cry.
Oh, to see my name
Written in the wounds,
For through Your suffering I am free.
Death is crushed to death;
Life is mine to live,
Won through Your selfless love.
FINAL CHORUS:
This, the pow’r of the cross:
Son of God—slain for us.
What a love! What a cost!
We stand forgiven at the cross.”
Video
The Power of the Cross (Official Lyric Video) - Keith & Kristyn Getty
Meaning & Inspiration
My hands are mapped with veins that look like riverbeds in a drought, and my eyesight isn’t what it was when I first started pinning these old hymns to my heart. I sat with Keith and Kristyn Getty’s words this morning, the kind of stillness that only comes when you’ve stopped trying to build a kingdom of your own and finally settled for the one being built for you.
There’s a line in this piece that stops me cold, every single time: "Oh, to see my name / Written in the wounds."
When you are young, you talk about the cross like it’s a victory lap, all trumpets and triumph. You treat the sacrifice as a concept, something to argue over in the back of the Sunday school room. But when you’ve spent four decades walking through the fire—when you’ve held the hands of friends as they slip behind the veil, when you’ve looked at your own failures and found them wanting—the theology shifts. It isn't just about a historical event anymore. It’s about the specific, heavy, jagged reality that my own name is there, carved into the very flesh of the Savior.
It brings to mind Isaiah 49:16: "Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands." It’s a frightening thing to realize that my messy, complicated life is etched into the wounds that should have been mine. It’s not a comforting thought in the way a soft blanket is comforting. It’s jarring. It keeps me awake. If my name is written there, then every secret I’ve kept, every cold word I’ve spoken, and every time I’ve looked the other way while a brother was in need—it was all accounted for in that bloodstained brow.
Is it just young man's noise? I keep asking myself that. The world tells me to look for inner peace, to look for self-actualization. But when the lights go out in this house and the silence gets heavy, "self-actualization" doesn’t hold a candle to the fact that someone took the wrath for me.
"Christ became sin for us." That’s the line that sits heavy in the chest. It’s not just a religious sentiment; it’s a brutal trade. I don’t understand how the Maker of all things bows His head to the dirt, but I’ve lived long enough to know that nothing else offers a footing that doesn’t crumble. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully grasp the "cost" they sing about, but as I trace the wrinkles on my palms, I know the debt was settled. It’s enough to keep the terror of the dark at bay, even if I still don’t have all the answers for why the road was so long and the valley so steep. For now, standing forgiven is all the ground I need.