Feel It

(think it through)

 

We call it Good Friday,

I’m not sure why

Because it was good for us that

Jesus died and,

Like the best sin-eater that he was—

King for a day and fool

In the world’s eyes—he

Consumed our sins in

Ignoble majesty,

A perfect person without sin himself,

And died

 

Otherwise, we should call it

What it was, the

Awful Friday

Terrible in blood and wood and metal,

The sounds of weeping

And of cursing,

‘Til the sun stopped shining and the

Earth was split

Because he died

 

I sit sipping ginger ale and

Nibbling toast, while

I try to write;

This

Is no version of the meal

That instigated things, though

We call it “last”

 

If I want, I may take part

In re-living and remembering this

At church

 

There is no last for me

Or you,

As there was for him

Though we might feel it in

Fear and isolation

 

There is something more—frankly,

I’m not sure

What it is exactly—and

 

We can have it

(inexactly)

Because there was this

Good death today

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Ave Calvar on Unsplash

 

Holey Week 6

 

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