Gut Instinct

I was torn,

I didn’t want him, either.

He’d been a thorn in my side his entire life.

I should have simply left him there,

Like everyone else did.

Over & done,

That was that.

I had won.

†††

But a thorn in his crown

was not enough,

not for me.

He would pay

for what he & his family had done,

they would suffer

& all would pay the price.

They would suffer

as I have suffered.

†††

So I wrested him

from where he rested,

& created for him a special tomb

from which he would never rest.

“You’re no better than me

or any of these others,

myriads whose cries

God has ignored,”

I spat in his face.

He simply stared

as though my words meant nothing,

though clearly they did.

Something mattered.

If not my words,

then what?

†††

I spat again,

words of accusation,

ridicule,

abuse.

I struck him,

whipped him,

deprived him of sleep,

food,

water,

taunted him with drink

just beyond his reach.

†††

“You’re no different,

no better than them,

all those whom God has forsaken,

abandoned to this place,”

I said to him spitefully.

With venom in my throat,

I pointed to them,

his gaze following

the haggard tip

of my bony finger.

Then with that digit

I took his chin

& turned him back.

bitterly rasping,

“You’re no different

or better

than me.

You will have

things your way

or not at all.”

†††

His gaze,

first toem,

then as though right through me,

as though I did not know

what I was doing….

†††

Them?

They are what matters to you?

†††

At that moment

I knew how to make him pay…,

make them all pay.

I turned up the heat—

make them suffer

& he will suffer,

he will renounce it all,

everything he has done,

believed

& held dear.

He will beg my forgiveness

& turn to me

for redemption.

if only but

to save them.

†††

Yet the more I turned the screws,

the more he looked to them

& they to him—

compassion in his eyes,

balm for their souls—

& before three days had passed,

I lost them all,

rescued as one

from my grasp.

†††

That instinct,

I should have trusted my gut

& left him there to rot,

forgotten & alone.

Heaven didn’t want him,

God’s back had been turned,

I didn’t want him,

he turned my stomach

& made me burn,

broken,

despised,

abandoned

& alone.

†††

i was the one

who stole his body from the tomb

& i'm glad.

†††

i’m glad that

my hatred & spite

drove me to this,

that gut instinct

could not prevent me,

for as i sit

here in the darkness,

evanescing & powerless,

remembering his gaze,

i find in this harrowing

something i have not known

from the day i first was cast down….

†††

Hope.

†††

†††

My Good Friday offering. Blessings, one & all.