The Gift

Drops of blood ran down His face

While on His knees he knelt

The temptation of fear engulfed Him

But He refused what He felt

He closed His eyes to it and remembered

His Father

The whip cracked down with deadly blows

Ripping up all His flesh

He was being butchered to pieces

Slash after slash

He wanted it to end

But He closed His eyes to it and remembered

His Children

The thorns, thick and strong like nails pressed deep into his skull

Puncturing his temples

Dirt was kicked into His open wounds

Sweat and blood dripped into his bloodshot eyes

His wounds oozed

His exhausted body begged for respite

But he closed his eyes to it and remembered

His Promise

The wooded cross landed squarely between His shoulder blades

Pain seared through his body

His temples throbbed, His veins itched

His sore and bloody feet stumbled and dragged over muddy ground

He was cursed at, laughed at and mocked

He wanted to drop to the ground, cheek against the dirt, and rest

I spit upon Him, pointed my finger, laughed in His face

But he took up His cross

So that we may follow

His arms stretched out as they placed the nail on the surface of His skin

The hammer struck with deadly blows

His feet

His hands

Down the rough wood of the cross

Blood flowed like rivers in the many grooves

His mother stood silently catching every drop

Her eyes closed in pain as her hands became to small for the flow

Quiet acceptance of Gods will

He closes His eyes to the pain and opens the gates of heaven

Slowly the priest lowers the Host and genuflects

Slowly our heads bow

Thank You