I reread a poem that I wrote more than a year ago as I thought on the Day of Good Friday. Today, I shared with my family. We went to the mall to buy Easter dresses and to eat out. Our day filled with gaiety and love. Christ’s Good Friday brimmed with hate and suffering.
I cannot imagine the suffering or pain, but He endured it all for me.
Good Friday, Long Ago
The day was already long and gruesome
His sentence almost complete.
He made the way through the crowds some jeering.
In the background, you could hear the sobbing of his mother and Mary.
He was whipped beyond recognition.
Scars on his back, red and running.
Across his shoulders a large beam of wood
Nails pounded through his hands.
His feet nailed to the beam.
His cross lifted into the air
Shadowing Mount Calvary.
What my sins cost: His ultimate suffering.
The day, forshadowed by The Holy Passover
When the blood of the slain lambs were painted
On the door posts
To bring salvation from sin’s death angel.
He was the Last Lamb our Father would ever need.
His holy blood shed on the first Good Friday
Would cover the sins of all the ages.
The last drop trickled to the ground.
Forsaken and alone, He cried, “My Father Why have Thou forsaken me?.”
“Into thou hands, I commend my spirit.”
“It is Finished.”
This post is written for Day 25 of the March Slice of Life Story Challenge,
I will also join several of the hops listed on my Link-up Parties page