Good Friday

I see
The crown of thorns that I placed on your head,
The woven barbs with which I punish you
The circlet of unending pain with no beginning or end
That I use to mock and make you cry.

I hear
The angry nails of words
That I use to pierce and pin you
That immobilize and hold you there
You sins raised up for all to see and hate you
Those nails are rusted and old.

I hold
The final thrusting spear of want
That drains your life from you
Spills your inmost vital fluids
All mingled with the byproducts of despair

All that rotting angry pain
Gathered from a hundred weary heartsick souls
And passed from generation to generation
By seeds of sin, warmed by the putrid breath of Satan
Who bids us not believe it has all been paid
And we must pound the flesh around us until it is punished
Unlovely, unloved, destroyed and unworthy of God.

We take on ourselves the role of God.
Like Satan, we desire His power
To punish those who hurt us,
Not believing that God is finished with that.
That Jesus already suffered it.
Jesus already died for that.

Blessed resurrection gives us hope that
Crown of Thorns, Rusty Words, Piercing Want
Of man can be redeemed, for those who inflict it
For those who suffer it
So that we who take our sins out on each other
Know that forgiveness is The Resurrection