Seems I’m delving into the dark side…
We take it all so literally. Let’s consider the story metaphorically, universally…
It’s iconic.
Ironic.
This repeated passion play.
I could prostrate myself,
Allow your scourge to freely flay.
It would not be enough.
You’d come back another day.
Angry.
I could struggle through the darkness
Of our shared Gethsemane,
Let you revile, defile, deny me.
It would not be enough.
You still would fail to see.
Resentful.
I could walk to Golgotha,
Accept your jabs and barbs,
Wear your crown of thorns.
It would not be enough.
You’d still want more.
Vengeful.
I could climb the mount to Calvary,
Hang there upon the crux,
Naked, mocked and doomed.
It would not be enough.
You’d rub salt in my wounds.
Righteous.
It’s useless, this processional, repeated passion play.
Then, Aha!
Perhaps the change to make’s not yours,
But mine.
Okay…
I’ll completely shift my focus.
Look inside.
My will be thine. ‡
*Footnote: Here’s the thing… I let it, allowed it, chose it. Freely. Now that’s ironic.
