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Good Friday

Good Friday

Friday 19th April 2019
Paddy Allen

Most precious Lord
I saw them nailing you to the cross.
The tangle of limbs and grumpy voices,
The workmanlike grunt of a man
Doing one more of a row of jobs,
The tearing of rough iron through your flesh.

I looked into your suffering eyes
As I approached with my small bundle
Of woes and paltry sins,
Almost as if I'd come too late -
You seemed so busy with your agony.

Yet there I stood,
Sick to death in the trap of myself,
And your eyes
In their weariness past understanding
Gently drew me
Inviting me to put my bundle down.

But I recoiled. Me! I loved you -
How could I add to your load?

And still your eyes drew me firmly,
Till I saw that I was expected,
That, like it or not,
My sins had already scarred you.
Through your pain I had to reach your love,
And, weeping, I saw the weight of my load
Add to the power of that pitiless hammer.

Before they lifted you away from us
To depths beyone our uttermost reach.
In the mystery of God who was dying
My heart bled
As the warmth of your gaze melted my bonds
And set me free.