“He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid, as it were, our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.”—Isaiah 53:3, KJV

***

Nothing human is a stranger

To God on the tree in agony.

He is in one place, and in all,

The Calvary of Mankind.

He is not safe from our iniquity,

Nor is He absent from our misery.

He is undone in all our history,

And will not leave a curse to mystery,

Not the ax blade, nor the hangman’s noose;

Not the fatal blow, nor the final breath;

Not death, disrupting our delusions,

Nor burial in the womb of the world.

He is here, in our tattered tales

And in the tragedies we weave.

Youth is pleasing, love is teasing,

Peace has charms, and war alarms,

While graveyards gape with teeth of stones

And ghosts curl through the bones.

Young Andre meets his destiny,

Rope to dangle, neck to snap,

A momentary pang, small comfort,

His life suffused, an ornament

Hanged on a gallows tree.

He loved the finer things of life,

Theater, poetry, and song—

The mirrors and masks of dalliance.

Yet the finest thing refused him peace:

The Face of Christ, his childhood goal.

And as a child, caught up in play,

He sought to find a hiding place.

Two child-soldiers caught his eye,

Rebels condemned to prison hulk.

He spared them on a wearied whim,

And said, “Go home… fear God.”

Time elapsed and battles raged

On fields of gore and in rooms of grandeur,

With snipers and spies, intrigue and avoidance.

Then came the word from Ancient Council:

“Let him be seized!”

Thus the enemy, and Love, arrested him.

The countdown had begun,

Set by the fickle rules of war

And vengeance, refusing reprieve,

While justice reigned on Sinai’s Mount.

Now, look upon him, sorrowing:

The commandments have been shattered

And the calf of gold is melting!

Now, take the time, young man, and turn,

That mercy’s angel might appear

And lead you to your hiding place.

Wounds, wine red, are open,

Wider than the gates of hell!

Use your hand, oh author,

And pen the hymn of Sovereign Love,

Etched in ear and memory,

Then use that hand to bind your eyes

… and die. Yes, die unto living.

And here, anon, a past generation

Commits another courteous killing…

More eyes with scales, more ears with wax.

We fabricate necessities,

And throw our stones,

And slaughter our scapegoats.

Young Derwentwater sheds his clothes;

Upon the platform, hear his steps.

All night he has lain dreading the end;

For his exiled King, a rebel lord.

He is shivering from fear and fast;

No food has passed his lips but prayer.

He forgives those with hardened hearts

From which forbearance fled in shame,

And says he dies upon his faith,

Repenting of his distractions.

Three times to say the Holy Name,

Three times, he pleads, then strike:

“Sweet Jesus,” first,

“Sweet Jesus,” next,

“Sweet Jesus—”

Last, and longingly

As ax cuts flesh and bone.

His hair will turn to golden thread;

His widow’s woe will weave it in,

Sew token words on lovers’ sheets,

Consecrated to their intimacy.

He turned none away in need,

For his hall was the home of grace,

And the northern lights burned bright for him

On the night his soul set forth.

Wild are the hedgerows connecting man to man;

The wildest is death, that touches Every Man,

And the Man we behold

As we shout,

“Barabbas!” first,

“Barabbas!” next,

“Barabbas—”

Last, and long will the blood be upon us…

And so we are saved.

Yes, we are Barabbas,

We captives set free,

For God and Man have kissed,

And the kiss is of betrayal…

The kiss is of death.

Ecce Homo!

Ecce Agnus Dei!

We see You, Lamb slain from the world’s

foundation!

We see You, our Brother, in front of us!

No, nothing human is a stranger

To God on the tree in agony.

For He’s left to bleed, and He cannot breathe,

And the soil is soaking scarlet.

Nothing is at odds with restoration,

Nothing will hinder transfiguration,

For the Light has shone in the darkness,

And the darkness knew Him not.

But Light, extinguished, blazed anew,

And darkness has not overcome Him.