For Good Friday

As the bird shelters nestlings

In the shadow of its wing

Whatever storm may rage,

So you have sheltered me

In the shadow of the cross

And the worst has not come nigh me.

Sometimes I almost sense

The thud of hammer strokes,

Unimaginable tear of flesh,

The scream of worlds unmaking,

And I turn my head away

That the worst may not come nigh me.

Sometimes I almost sense

The blood-lust of the crowd

(It is not so far away)

Where justice bends to evil

And the social contract shreds:

May the worst still not come nigh me!

Sometimes I almost sense

The bright, clean light depart,

Dark where dark should not be

Swallowing friendly stars,

With death’s entirety

And the worst has not come nigh me.

Sometimes I almost sense

The mockery that kills,

The laughter born in hell

That splinters like cruel glass

And stabs with poisoned stroke,

But the worst has not come nigh me.

………………………………………………………….

I climb again that hill

Standing aloof from time

Trying to face those wounds

Which should have all been mine.

I cannot hold them fast,

No longer mine to bear,

All that I see is love,

Love that is everywhere.

All that I see is you,

Welcome upon your face,

Under that crown of thorns

Shines such transcendent grace,

No portioning of blame,

No tallying of sin,

Only your arms stretched wide

To take a whole world in.