GOOD FRIDAY

I was the pious priest who wished you dead.

I tendered silver pieces for the coup.

I was the thug who thorny crowned your head.

I was the terrorist who taunted you.

I was the guard who speared your helpless flank.

I gambled, drawing lots to steal your clothes.

I wrote the sign that ridiculed your rank.

I called out from the crowd in vulgar prose.

But there was one, Simon, who bore your cross

And thunderous young John who ran beside.

The contrite thief shared in the grief and loss

While countless faithful women moaned and cried.

Even Judas regretted sin’s demands,

Yet I avert my eyes and wash my hands.

Note: The picture is a portion of Arthur Boyd's

painting of 'The Mockers'.