Friday, April 6, 2012

Good Friday


There are years when I cannot face
Gethsemane and Golgotha.
There are years of bad news and anxiety
and too much of both.

This year, You knew I couldn’t face it,
so You went ahead and sent me
resurrection, in the form of my
friend and her folks, rescuing me.

This year, You sent me
two hours in a sunny garden,
talking and laughing and
forgetting my fear
rather than to Gethsemane.

And rather than to Golgotha,
You gave me an evening listening to
stories, sharing music and recipes
and nachos and that awkward bit
with the compost bin, and laughter.

This year, rather than drag me back
through Your death,
You reminded me that You are risen,
and that resurrection happens
every day.

2 comments:

The Misfit Toy said...

For me, this is the perfect Good Friday poem.

Paul Hunter said...

Beautiful, and so very honest. Golgatha is nothing but despair without the empty tomb on Easter Sunday. Thank you for this... although it makes me want to know the back story ;-)