Gentle Reader,
Stepping into the soberness of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday with my beloved brothers and sisters of the Five Minute Friday crew. Gracious Kate provides the space. We contemplate: good.
Go.
By no means do I consider myself a poet of any real skill. Nevertheless, this week’s prompt called to mind the following words I wrote years ago:
“The Death That Should Be”
The blows to
Strike me down
Knocked my Lord
Upon the crown
The insult designed
To hurt
Threw God upon
The dirt
The streets that
Ran red
Came from Him
Instead
The blackness,
A terror
Enveloped Him,
But no error
The death that
Should be – me
Rather experienced
By He
The pain, the loss,
The separation
All our inglorious
Damnation
Heaped upon
The One
Who created
Shining sun
Who calms the
Storm
Comforts
Forlorn
Struck fire on
Mt. Carmel
Every day –
A marvel
The Lord, the God,
The Master
Replacing me in
This disaster
Do I even
Really know?
What it would mean
To take such blow?
I think I have
No comprehension
Of this Heavenly
Condescension
How can it work
That I am free?
From the death
That should be me?
Stop.
Thank you, Jesus.
