A Jesus to Talk About

When you started your heroic journey,

Satan arrived with a serious worry,

a border guard, trying to bar your way,

frantically seeking to make you obey.

He already knew all that was at stake:

If you could succeed, Death himself would quake.

Guilt and Shame would flee, wailing in disgrace.

Injustice would be revealed, face to face

with the eternal Judge.

But you named helpers, a dozen in all,

and set out on your way; issued your call

to a new approach, new way of living,

neither grabbing in greed nor cowering

in fear; no way of reproach, but giving;

not forgetting wrongs, but yet forgiving.

You told us the bitter truth of our soul,

but then you forgave us, marking us whole

in the view of the Judge.

After three years of courageous questing,

came the moment of ultimate testing.

Your pageantry, entering the city,

fairly shouted to all the committee

of Evil, "Here I come -- now do your worst!"

They heard you clearly as a loud outburst,

decided it was time to take you down,

destroy your name, put you into the ground.

They thought they were the Judge.

You knew what they did -- your anger was just.

But so few agreed to do what they must.

Thus started your own dark night of the soul.

You wept for our loss, felt all of it whole,

then waived exemption from what was to come.

When your enemies came, you didn't succumb

to fear. You knew they could cause you no loss.

You practically jumped up onto that cross,

died... lived... were crowned as Judge!

Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.