Cherished in a circlet of olive; spurned laurels and thorns.
A branch pierced His ribbed kite into crushing breathlessness.
A sparrow* angel cradles the head of the childless Son suffocated in the line of duty;
countless counts of compassion from time immemorial.
Not broken for an instant of propitiation;
because the perpetual vow of atonement dawned with the cosmos.
Not broken as an exemplar of martyrdom; Love asks not for sacrificial blood, not even sheep.
Broken senselessly; broken unconscionably.
Broken into fragments of forgiveness put together in redemption.
Broken for lukewarm hands to a fault of parted water.**
Broken as a severed ear is returned to its nest.
Broken as a pardoned traitor hangs on a silver tree.
What more can be heard of grace?
Only but from the entire human race.
*Matt:10; 29 “Are not two sparrows sold for a cent? And yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.”
**Pontius Pilate washed his hands of responsibility, reminiscent of Moses parting the Red Sea.
Powered by WPeMatico