Good Friday (April 18, 2025)

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be alway acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, our Strength and our Redeemer. Amen.

Would I be the Centurion, To the victim strangely drawn Gazed on at this injustice awed, “Truly this is the Son of God”?

Would I be those poor women weeping While their noble watch were keeping Comforting the Holy Mother Who never birthed another?

Would I be that faithful theif Trodden down by urgent grief Who turned to God in desperate prayer To be saved from his despair?

Those faithful characters are to me Far more than I could ever be O soldier, women, thief: pray for this poor soul That your faith might make me whole.

Far more like the disciples I must confess Who fled and feared and would repress Their true selves like sheep without a pastor And denied ever knowing their Master

Filled with bloodlust, I would cry, “That man I want to crucify,” And with the soldiers I would stand To drive the nails into those precious hands.

The more I think I’d ne’er betray The more I know that I would slay Thirty pieces is more than I would take To bring him to that awful stake.

I have condemned, struck, nailed, and betrayed This cross, my doing, on me should be laid There are no words that I could say Because Good Friday happens every single day.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.