The Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ

It is no small feat to attempt to speak of the dying of our Lord who sacrificed Himself for us by a fate far worse than fire or by sword. For one as whom not qualified to write of this great deed, the Son of God who gave Himself for such a fool as me. I beg sincere forgiveness before continuing with this task of shedding light on the Passion of ours and God’s own past. For I’m no theologian nor deacon, preacher, priest, I’m just someone who’s time has come to ponder, wander, reach… Towards Jerusalem and Judea, Bethlehem, Nazareth, Hebron, where miracles healed the sick, deaf, and blind and the dead brought forth from beyond. And Jesus walking on the Sea of Galilee, feeding five thousand souls, with a few small fish and His own wish to fill their hearts with gold. Speaking parables like the Mustard Seed and the Sermon on the Mount he made, where all were blessed and found true rest beneath his loving shade. Until things turned sad and he grew mad at the money changers and their greed, then tossed and turned them upside down hoping some of them might see. His message clear for the far and near to heed his beckon call, to change their minds and learn to climb above their tainted temple walls. But the Sanhedrin yearned to watch Him burn for defying their own laws, for claiming to be the One True God and pointing out their own flaws. And thus, the story did unfold with Judas waiting in the wings to turn him in, this once dear friend with a kiss the traitor did sting and bring. The wrath of those who would dispose of all their sacred vows to love their God with all their hearts that nature could allow. Then taking Him by any means to crucify this fiendish fake not knowing they were on the verge of making their own worst mistake. “To Golgotha,” they shouted, “Crucify that man! He’s not one of us,” they screamed playing straight into His plan. And so they came with whips and chains and a crown of thorns awaiting pressed into his skull near brain the pain insane, excruciating. They tore his flesh with leather whips and meat hooks tied on ends to inflict the meanest mighty blow no man could comprehend. Unless you’re the one receiving every passing, striking blow slowing time throughout all time that only He could know. And then the trudge, the trail of blood, and dragging his own cross over steps and stones through tears and groans so that all humanity won’t be lost. Where they finally hung him on a tree with nails through flesh and bone to send a message far and wide: “This King is not our own.” With his Mother Mary weeping beneath his bruised and bloody feet he bowed his head and softly said: “It’s finished, finally, I’m set free.” And his killers danced, laughed and pranced as he lay inside a tomb until a few days later when their laughter turned to gloom. Hearing he had risen they could not believe their ears as he was talking, walking ‘round again attested to by strangers, friends and His Apostles near. All swearing it was true as you and I are here today, with the hope of everlasting life and more joy along the way. Than those who choose to turn and run from the sacrificial Lamb: the One in Three, called Trinity, the King of Kings, the great “I Am.” His Word thus spoken, thoughts awoken enough to open eyes from darkened days and broken hearts to His glorious, star speckled skies. While resting from this Passion storm I hope and pray above, that He forgives and gives us all His full eternal love.