Passion Play

 

1

 

Today we wave palms

Or not—some churches

Seem to wait—in an

Enactment, a kind of

Remembrance

 

Passion starts, a brief

Season of

 

Intimacy overthrown,

Though given first by

The hand of God through

Child, prophet, and

Teacher

 

One who was three

 

On Thursday, many

Christians will recall:

He names adherents

No longer only followers

But now as friends

 

Goes to prayer, Son of

Us, before taken away

 

2

 

Carried with will toward

Interrogation, torture

 

Final testimony that

Renders him seditious

To the crowd, numbered

Of all the world we

Knew

 

Beaten and burdened

With his means of execution

He is taken on the way

With escort disciplined

 

Through a mob that,

More and more, loses its

Human shape and

Recognition

 

We mock, refute, then

Pierce his skin to leave

Him, a criminal, dying

With due scorn upon an

Iron tree

 

3

 

We wave palms,

Festive and endearing,

A likable rite that we

Prepare

 

Later in the week we

Wrap his wounds in

Bearing our bound

Innocence into a tomb

Beside which stands

 

A stone door carved

With the world’s skill

Ready to be shut against

All consequence

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