Iesus Christus Rex Judaeorum
(For
Maundy Thursday)
His
body is no longer wrapped
in
the damp darkness of the sepulcher
Like
Thomas we can now truly touch
The
stigmata of the Suffering Servant.
In
Gethsemane, while the three escaped the storms
of
the coming hours on their own shores
In
Galilee's dreamscape,
He
prayed sweating the blood of Man's sins.
As
the breath of soldiers carried spit,
shame
struck across the cheek He turned.
The
face that once shone with the Spirit was now dark,
mocked
in His Father's House.
The
flagellum landed upon his back and legs
thirty
nine times cutting into His skin.
To
keep the ancient law (even with a miscount)
the
Centurion could not exceed the number.
A
scepter was placed into His weakened hand
and
a crown capped the soldier's thorny sadism.
Our
iniquities collected clotting His wounds
only
to be reopened as they removed
his robe.
The
cold sweat of shock soaked into wood
as
He stumbled under the weight of His agony.
Simon
of Cyrene heeded the centurion's whip
to
help the Nazarene down the Way
of Pain.
The
sinful spikes we pounded deep into flesh
crushed
bone and muscle that once taught love.
The
breath of Life became paralyzed and short
drawn
to speak the seven words of the cross.
His
legs were not broken, nor was His Spirit
for
it had been given to the Father in love.
The
sentence of death by broken heart
was
executed for us that we might go free.
Image
based on clip-art from
The
Jesus Gallery
