Not Someone Else, Me

At this time of year I've often reflected upon what You suffered. Sometimes seeking recreations and interpretations in cinema, other times in literature, or even just reading the accounts. But it has always been me looking from an outside perspective, going back thousands of years to those events. But tonight I was there.

It was not your close friend that greeted you with a kiss of betrayal, it was me. I traded You for a trivial sum: enough to warrant the deed, but not nearly enough to stop the hurt.

It was not the Roman guards, drunk enough to carry out the task of tearing your flesh. It was me. I became so drunk on the sins of the world that I did not even realize I was ripping my Lord to pieces.

It was not your confidant and mentee that denied You to save his own skin, that of course was me. Somehow all that You showed me and promised me faded in the wake of accusation and I chose to forget You and every wondrous sign you gave, every truthful word you spoke.

But what sickens me, what destroys me, and what stops me dead in my tracks is this: I see quite clearly that it was not some stranger from a foreign power who tacked you to that tree. IT WAS ME. I took your arm, I remember how you did not resist as I plunged the nail in. The pain from one blow was extreme, but I did not stop until your arm held fast. Surely you will fight to keep the other arm free. It lays there, complying in love. I pour my sins into the second nail, leaving no chance for your escape. Surely I've no more death in me to finish the job. But my sin wells within me anew and I amply pound your feet firmly to the support.

That day I robbed life from the one that gives life. But in that horrible nausea of the image of you I am comforted. The heap I lay in from the aftermath you restore. What was sure to condemn me forever has set me free. Still at times I wonder who you did it all for. Though I may never know why, let me always see, that you did it all for me.