Good Friday

 

Jesus, what did you see on that ominous
Friday when all your friends disappeared,
except a handful of women? As your nerves
throbbed, your muscles wrenched, your stomach
contorted, did you see sneers, hatred, disdain?
How were you able to forgive the soldiers
who pressed a crown of thorns on your head,
drove the nails into your hands and feet, who
spat upon you, jeered and ridiculed you?

Did you feel like you had failed, that all your
words were in vain, all your love for naught?
Did you think maybe you should have done
something differently, been more patient,
had more time, never chosen Judas?
 
Sometimes I forget your humanness, how
alone and anguished, grieved at your mother’s
suffering, dying like a common criminal,
feeling forsaken even by your Father.
 
What would I have done had I been there?
Would I have run too, or remained steadfast?
Lord, give me courage to be true to you
as you pour out your love for me.


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