POEM: GOOD FRIDAY - EASTER


In the garden, sadness came over him

and great distress. If only the cup would pass.

How often like Jesus is our own life,

when we feel like him, and pray like him,

asking for our trials to pass, asking

not to be put to the test.

But is he not walking with us?

Good Friday is where people are in pain,

where injustice thrives, where love is absent,

where politics become corrupt, the poor abused

and where people are crucified.

My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?

What happened then is history and beyond history:

his burial robe folded in the empty tomb,

the women who were first witnesses terrified.

Jesus was seen alive, touched, heard,

saying ‘peace be with you, do not be afraid’,

Jesus, the person whom they knew, transformed.

The marks of his crucifixion remained

on his limbs, his side, his forehead.

This is what is in store for his faithful ones,

all changed, transformed, the worst and the best

that life can do to us taken up, and honoured

with Christ’s Easter rising in us.

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