Good Friday

 

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Misunderstood,
Caught in the cross-fire,
Tortured
to death.
Buried
in another's grave.
Body
missing.
Ignoble.
Failure.

I see your
disfigured body.
Hardly can I look.
Torn,
broken.
Rent apart.
For what?

They say 
for sin -
not your own.

If I have sinned
what is that to you?
Should it cause
death?
My humanity
and theirs and
theirs,
surely
not warranting
a death penalty
- mine nor yours.

They signed you
with treason -
a threat
to the ruler -
northerner
that you were,
untrained
as you were,
popular 
as you were.

They were volatile times.
Days of tension,
bubbling foment,
ready to 
spill over.
To keep the peace
what is one more
death?

Yet,
and yet,
in your death
we face
our death
and cannot
look away.
We are mortal.
It will end.

Surely
then,
we should
live well;
live with
passion and courage,
live with
commitment and zeal,
live with
joy and humour,
live in
the presence of God,
for all that is
and all that this life
can be.

And if we are
misunderstood
or our lives get
caught up
in the tension of 
our time
- even to death
and failure,
we follow you,
whose death
is the power
and the wisdom
of God.


[The Crucifixion, Barnaba da Modena, National Gallery, London]
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