Poems of Passion Week, Thursday

No Way
Luke 22

Lord, there is no way I can make good poetry from this story.
No way I can journey with Judas, you as my merchandise.
I can’t sit at the table with your disciples, drink your blood, eat your body, even in metaphor.
I also love to pray in gardens, but this bloody sweat makes no sense.
I’m angry at the kiss of death and the rough seizure with you refusing resistance, at the mockery and the insults.
And I’m dumbfounded when you look at me, just as you looked at Peter.
Forgive me.

 

I Am He
John 18:1-27

I am he is the seismic center.
It spreads in expanding rings.
The bodies fall outward,
circle a setting sun.
Torches, lanterns, weapons,
a bloody face, arrest
and betrayals spin,
but the center holds.
Even so, night deepens.
Even so, this unbearable cold.