SACRIFICE.

A couple of years ago, I was assigned a project for one of my college classes.  We were to follow a media project in the news for a few months and then reflect on the issue in a creative way to present to our class.  I chose to follow the release of the movie The Passion of the Christ, which was just coming out at that time.  I wrote this poem to reflect on my research and interaction with the film.  I've made a few small changes to it, but to be honest, I want to rewrite the whole thing.  I have learned a lot about the 'show, don't tell' principle in writing since then.  However, I think it still communicates the story of Christ's sacrifice.  Maybe next Easter, I will rewrite it in a more effective way.  But for now, here it is...


                                                           The Passion of Christ
                                                  
                                    The story begins in a garden, late at night,
                                    When darkness reigned,
                                    Before the morning light.

                                     A fear unimaginable lay ahead
                                     Jesus kneels in the garden-
                                     With both purpose and dread.

                                     "Not my will, but yours be done,"
                                     he earnestly prays;
                                     Drops of sweat drip like blood,
                                     Baptizing his face.

                                     Betrayed by his own, with a bitter kiss-
                                     Am I leading a rebellion, that I should resist?

                                      Questioned by Caiaphas, he gave no reply-
                                      'Tell us if you are the Christ.
                                       If it is as you say, prophesy!'

                                      Mocking, they beat him, again and again-
                                      His blood stains the floor,
                                      Spiky whips tear his skin.

                                      His disciples scatter, what else could they do?
                                      Peter's words burn in their ears,
                                      'I will never disown you.'

                                     Questioned by Pilate, but again no reply.
                                     The crowds condemn him;
                                      They yell, 'Crucify!'

                                     Pronouncing his own innocence,
                                     Pilate washes his hands
                                    
                                     He concedes to the crowd;
                                     their cries for murder out of hand.

                                    Stripped of his clothing, crowned by their hate,
                                    Spit on, insulted- his dignity raped.

                                    Led to Golgotha, he bears his cross,
                                    followed my mourners,
                                   All humanity lost.

                                   Weep not for me, but for yourselves,
                                   came his reply,
                                   'For if men do these things
                                   When the tree is green,
                                   What will happen when it is dry?'

                                   Crucified with criminals, a storm is brewing
                                   In pain he cries,
                                  'Father, forgive them:
                                  they do not know what they are doing.'

                                   His pain so excruciating, he can barely breathe
                                   He cries aloud,
                                   'My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?'

                                   Heaven and Hell break loose
                                   After one last breath,
                                   An atoning sacrifice complete,
                                   But not ending in death.

                                  But in his death, came life
                                  The Son's life, laid down-
                                       a perfect sacrifice.
                                 
                                  For with the fulfillment of his death complete,
                                  Death's power was lost in this life's defeat.               
                             
                                  But as we accept this life,
                                  we must first mourn his death.
                                  Let us not grow numb; let us not forget.
                                  We must also not hate
                                  Those who cursed, spit and nailed
                                  Without realizing our own hands
                                  Are blood-stained as well.

                                 We must daily see this gift through new eyes
                                 Our bodies- a living sacrifice
                                  For which he paid the price.

                                 Let us wake up each day with passion renewed
                                 For the cross of Christ, must affect all that we do.