Wednesday, April 1, 2015

May We Not Ignore

My preference for realistic religious art, I have realized, goes beyond just personal taste.  Some years ago, I wrote the following … 


His body did not shine that day, so long ago.  He hung from a very real wood cross, He hung bruised and sweating and blood-stained.  His knees were scraped, His face contorted with pain.  Smells were of blood and dust and just-hammered metal.  There was no upbeat music that day; there were no songbooks, no guitars.  There were just the moans of people dying and friends watching them die.  There were crowd-sounds, possibly a joke or two, the occasional slap of a whip striking the ground.  Soldiers held back mourners and yelled out commands and probably thought about what they would do after work.

Overhead, a few clouds gathered.  Rain came then, soaking onlookers and washing rivulets of blood into the ground.  Three men hung dying that day, on crosses not made of silver.  They were pierced through with nails not coated with gold.  Three men writhed in pain, they sweated and bled, two of them were heard praying, and all of them died.




This is a repost from The Cloistered Heart


  1. Love poured out for us......oh thank you for this post, Nancy!


  2. "..allow my own selfish will to be crucified today..."

    Amen. Thank you for this beautiful reflection, really touched my heart. God bless you, dear sister. xx

    1. Trish, I didn't mean to leave this unresponded-to for 2 weeks!! I suppose, because of the solemn and then joyful days just ahead of it, I thought I'd been back here....??? Thank you!