Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
How handy that we have
in the battlements of our faith
this rack of shields:
that Jesus was sent to die,
that this is as it should be,
your eternal plan,
and it was long ago,
and it was not us.
But it is not your plan.
It is my travesty. My injustice.
I crucify you.
My fear betrays you,
my bitterness whips you,
my controlling nails you up.
My race shoots yours,
my consumption exploits you,
my comfort abuses you,
my nation devastates yours.
O God, this terrible cross
is not yours but mine.
I built it. I impose it.
Yet you die on it,
suffer my injustice,
and forgive.
How can I not cry out for justice
in horrified gratitude,
in holy longing,
at the foot of my cross,
my savior,
my God?
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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