TGIF

Last updated on: March 31, 2018 at 1:32 am by Ben Witherington

TGIF 2018-03-30T23:35:46-04:00 Ben Witherington

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The sky is sullen overhead
The tree a silhouette
The rain begins to fall again
No one’s left just yet.

The body hangs limp and loose
The soldiers take their time
The women weep and weep and weep
Whose act had caused this crime?

I could not bear to stay and watch,
His mother’s grief too great
I needed to get her somewhere safe
The hour was quite late.

Why had he given her to me?
She had more children too
And how could I become her son
What was I to do?

I took her home that awful day
Just when the lambs were killed
I had no stomach for the meal
So much blood was spilled.

How could he forgive his tormentors
Or promise paradise
To another hanging there
His flesh as cold as ice?

Those fishermen had run away,
The tax collector too
I heard the awful word betray
And knew not what to do.

My sisters hid at home nearby
Stunned to silence now
Yet he had seen it coming soon
But had not said just how.

The cup had not passed him by
He drank it to the dregs
Then strangely said ‘I thirst’ once more
But refused to beg.

We’ve all been taught that how one dies
Reveals just who we are
But how could such a shameful death
Best the best by far?

When sundown came for Passover
The blood above the door
I wondered if the plague returned
Taking a son once more.

His exodus was not like theirs
They left alive and well
He left much too suddenly,
Some said he went to Hell.

What kind of God had he called too
In his forsaken state?
Was it the God of exodus,
If so, he came too late.

Etched in my mind on this dark day
His battered, blood-soaked face
Did he raise me from the dead
So I could take his place?

These questions haunt me here at home
My heart keeps screaming— why
His mother says it was foreseen
That he would have to die.

I cannot bear to celebrate
The slaughter of the lambs
Or say out loud the Passover
Or remember who I am.

This day will live in infamy
Humanity at its worst
Instead of justice or reprieve
The righteous man was cursed.
And as the night comes closing in
My prayers seem useless now
No Sabbath rest for me this night
Must sleep, but don’t know how.

Come Sunday we should find the tomb
When the sun does rise
And pay our last respects to him
And restart all our lives.

BW3

March 30, 2018

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