Personal

Two thousand years ago, or something in that neighborhood, I was not there at Golgotha to see the bright sky darken, or despair as blood and water flowed from naked side beneath his ribs encasing broken heart. I did not see
the soldiers throwing dice to see who'd get his clothes, hear him bid John care for Mother Mary or forgive the crowd below the cross. I was not there in body,
but something of mine witnessed the great sacrifice.
Somewhere in the blows and bloodied thorny crown,
the molecule that would become my sin and sins received
their punishment, including that small and petty thought
that selfishly raised its head up from the grave just
yesterday, as well as bigger sins that I'll commit
as soon as I have time. The inclination's there,
no question, but they've all been paid for, nonetheless.
There's nothing more that I can do to make up for
tremendous lack of character or strength, no payment
from these meager coffers could come close to
matching what he did already, seeing that I'd need
forgiveness now and then and every moment
in between. It wasn't just for me, of course, the love
that held him there (you didn't really think a spike
could fasten down the weight off all the power
of the universe!) but still, I take it personally, take
it with a sob of gratitude, take it with a belly laugh
of thanks that I'm alive and get to stay that way
because God saw my sin ahead of time and
said he'd add it to the mix, settle up for everyone
that one dark day two thousand years ago, or
something there about.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013