For a Woman Like Me, Through the Eyes of Mary Magdalene

A poem from The Last Hours of Christ series (as seen through the eyes of Mary Magdalene) I listen in horror to the Apostles’ accounts of what happened at Gethsemane, that night when the soldiers arrested Jesus and all the Apostles were forced to flee. Now we stand on the fringes of the crowd and watch this mockery of a trial proceed. How can they think of condemning this Man who holds the answer to their every need? How can it be possible for His ministry of mercy to simply be ending like this? And why is it that I keep imagining that I hear a nearby serpent’s hiss? Standing with His mother, I watch His torture, my heart broken and filled with dread. I long to run to Him and wipe the blood from His precious thorn encircled head. I shudder with every lash of the whip, every nail that is hammered into place, as I witness His agony and suffering, as reflected in His eyes and upon His face. I fall to my knees and gaze up at Him as He hangs upon His cross. I pray for a quick end to His suffering, wondering how I can survive His loss. Father, I know the life I used to live was extremely offensive to Thee. So why is your perfect Son hanging on that cross, when it should have been me? I will never understand what He did for me, or why He was willing to sacrifice, to pay for the many sins of a woman like me. Yet He was willing to pay the ultimate price.