It’s exactly a year since my mother went to be with Jesus after a lifetime of faithful following.
She was fond of poetry, including writing some of her own. In the closing days of her life we came across a poem she had written as a reflection on the the crucifixion scene. It’s appropriate to post it here today as a tribute to her on this first anniversary and also because we are almost at Good Friday.
They must have been close when they spat in his face
So close when they plucked out his hair
Their hands must have touched when they took off his robe
And gave him another to wear.
They must have gone out to gather the thorns
To make them into a crown
They must have hammered it into his head
And have seen the blood trickle down.
They must have been close when the whip lashed his back
So close when they led him away
They must have been near to mock and to jeer
As he hung on the cross all that day.
They must have been close while they watched him hang there
They must have been near when he died
They must have been there when he called out to God
And watched as the spear pierced his side.
When he comes back to reign and they see him again
Will they think of the sorrow he bore
Will they think just how near they were to him here
And how far they will be evermore.