Friday’s Strange Relief


This is the Day

The world stood still

At noontime dark and dread

And Goodness hung

Upon a cross

And Power wished Him dead.

The trip to town

Was filled with mirth

As pilgrims praised the One

Who spoke of Light

And second birth

And called Himself God’s Son.

They watched Him heal

Absolve the sin

They knew His ways were kind

How quickly had

They lost their zeal

To leave this Prince behind.

And so the worst

Of church and state

Had bound the Son in chains

To paint a cross

With His dear blood

To lose their sun in rains.

As if Jews’ God

Were frowning then

And words long spoke come true

How blameless blood

Would staunch sin’s flood

Isaiah’s words o’erdue.

His groans were deep

Their mocking sharp

A Mother held His eyes

A thief nearby

Who hung for crime

Would hear of Paradise.

And then the lapse

His breath released

His finished work so strange

Could mankind guess

In just three days

That everything would change?


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