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Good Friday, a Reprise

Abhorred, reject­ed, ridiculed, and harmed,
This son of man famil­iar with our pain.
A god enfleshed and by his flesh disarmed,
A god of nerve and sinew, skin and vein.

We hide our faces so to shield our shame
That the lord of heav­en and the lord of earth
Was so debased, pol­lut­ed, wrecked, and lame;
Could under­go the injury of birth.

We so enthralled to pow­er and to might
Did hold this man in low­est of esteem,
We want for gods who fight, resist, and smite,
Not cow­er, bend, sub­mit, and bear the beam.

We soap and sud the tales and scrub them clean:
No blood and waters, nei­ther vul­vas torn,
No ashen face, no rind of clot­ted cream,
No shit, no after­birth, no cord is shorn.

Yet this was first as it would yet be last,
The truth was always in this frag­ile meat,
So prone to harm and hurt and grief so vast.
It hides away its dawn­ing in deceit.

What will we see when all the veils are drawn?
What is exposed to anx­ious, flight­ing eyes;
When we peel wide the hor­ror, let it yawn
Open how our lord, how we are brutalized?

His pas­sion, it began on Christ­mas morn,
His pas­sion was the pas­sion of all men,
Born of a woman in anguish, and forlorn,
To live by death and die for life again.

That final peak was mere­ly a reprise,
Of every heck­ling crowd, deri­sive word,
Of any who tor­ment­ed or despised,
Who vio­lat­ed, pierced, and beat, and spurred.

The crowd was all us, but vic­tim too,
We injure and are injured — bleed, draw blood,
We heck­le, jeer, we punch, and kick, and spew,
And so are taunt­ed, beat­en, smeared with mud.

The rabid mob aswarm in laugh­ter slings
Its insults and all its discontents,
Unloads upon the man its stripes and stings,
And flings its bow­els and piss­es its intents.

The sol­diers throw him shack­led on the ground —
Their task is noth­ing shock­ing, noth­ing new —
They strip him of his robes to soar­ing sound,
His shrunk­en naked­ness laid bare to view.

The crowd, it howls and thun­ders, squeals with glee.
Bowed, bent, and prone, the sol­diers take in turn —
Unman him by his every whimp’ring plea —
His virtue tak­en with each thrust and churn.

Despoiled and spat­tered, cast their lots, convulsed
With laugh­ter at their chance to own the clothes
Of such a mighty king — this lord repulsed!
Upon his brow a bram­ble plait compose,

And in his fist a flow­er­ing reed-mace place,
Array him in the man­tle of Jove and Mars,
And gen­u­flect and nod and rap his face,
Slob­ber­ing, “My imper­a­tor! My stars!”

The august poten­tate is raised, processed
To stand before a pil­lar caked in black;
Cinched wrists lashed to, regalia repossessed,
The knuck­led-thongs beto­ken­ing with a crack.

Those stud­ded bands peal sharply in the air,
Col­lide with sweat and grime slicked skin
Slice, pierce, and bruise, and welt, and tear
Until his back is plowed with fur­rows thin

And welling up with yestereven’s wine;
His crumbs cast out upon the ground for curs.
Those friends full-bel­lied with him­self resign
And hide their faces, flee the fly­ing slurs.

Now for­ward pushed, to bear his own disgrace,
He stum­bles ’neath the timber’s bru­tal span.
The blood­ied sweat streams down his hol­lowed face,
This lamb of god made sac­ri­fice for man.

Each stag­ger­ing step, a hymn of muf­fled groans,
As weight and wounds con­spire to bring him low.
His trem­bling form, a sym­pho­ny of bones —
His splin­ter­ing gait — each stum­ble, heave, and throe.

The women weep; the chil­dren gape, aghast,
Yet he, unyield­ing, meets their tear­ful gaze.
“Daugh­ters, mourn not for me, but for the vast
Destruc­tion wrought in sin’s unceas­ing blaze.”

Upon the hill, where car­rion wheel and cry,
He founders, crushed beneath the grave beam’s weight.
A stranger steps in, sum­moned, walk­ing by,
To shoul­der now this bur­den birthed in hate.

The sol­diers drag him limp and soiled and lame,
His rude undress an oblo­quy of power —
With ruth­less hands, they fling him on the frame,
A twist­ed mass of limbs and filth acower.

The ham­mer strikes; the nails bite flesh, grind bone.
His hands, out­stretched, embrace the yawn­ing vault.
Through wrist and foot his agony is sewn
And thread­ed through with iron’s cold assault.

Borne aloft, undraped in gelid air
Hangs — slumped in tor­ment, pierced by cru­el decree —
His bat­tered form, his vis­age pale and bare —
Pours mer­cy out despite all enmity:

For­give them, Abba,” gasps with labored breath,
“For­give — they know not what their deeds have wrought.”
Through blood and bile con­fronts unfeel­ing death,
“Shalém…” and in it, its undo­ing bought.

His lungs expel one final wheez­ing whine,
His mutil­i­at­ed flesh, bespat­tered, torn —
The scent of blood and excre­ment entwine,
And in this end, unend­ing­ness is born.

Upon the tree, his body stretched and taut,
His bow­els released and man­hood gorged,
Eyes glazed, tongue lolled, and ooz­ing snot,
All Death’s humil­i­a­tions on him poured.

The heav­ens dark­en, the tem­ple veil is torn,
Cre­ation groans beneath the weight of loss.
The son of god, for all our sor­rows born,
Dis­played, abased by us, with us, for us upon this cross.

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