A poem for Good Friday.


I remember the beginning:
the awe of newness
the sudden weight of time
and the mouth of God
spitting out violent light.

I remember the garden singing with life,
the scent of wildflowers
carried on unpolluted breeze,
tentative footsteps on never-trodden grass –
man, woman, the first embrace.

I remember the slither of the serpent
and the hiss of the oldest lie;
I remember pain, howling pain
and then the bitterness of shame,
hiding from the only love that could fix it.

I remember the breaking:
relationships ripped apart,
great chasms between people and God
and people and the earth
and people and themselves.

But I also remember him.
The carpenter’s son, the Rabbi, the temple-trasher,
demon-tormentor, crowd-feeder, leper-healer.
I remember his body being wrecked –
his brokenness our great unbreaking.

– Gideon Heugh