Every year Christians celebrate Easter. We celebrate it at different levels and ways depending on what Easter means to us. I love Easter!
My dad was a pastor and a poet. Every Good Friday (the day Jesus died), our church would open its doors on Friday evening to allow people to come and spend time in prayer. He would always have a bulletin ready with a beautiful Easter picture and then a poem he had written as well as some scriptures.
People would come and go throughout the evening. There would be soft music playing. If you wanted to, you could go to the front and have communion – just you and the Lord. There was a large crucifix at the front of the church.
So imagine instead of a program where everyone did the same thing, we met Jesus in our own way. I loved these moments from the time I was little – it always was very special.
I thought you might enjoy reading one of the pieces my father wrote for the Good Friday service.
YOU THERE ON THE CROSS
You there, on the cross!
What were the words you whispered?
Why did you not curse us,
As we drove home the nails?
Why did you not scream with pain,
When we thrust the foot of the beam
Into the socket of stone?
What manner of man are you
To utter “Forgive them, Father…”
When you should have hissed
Syllables of hate,
As have others who died thus?
And, just before I drove home the spear
Into your side,
You sagged limp against the nails
With a long, fluttering sigh of death.
Did I hear you whisper,
“It is finished”?
What is finished?
Was it a task begun long ago?
Was it a race, finished before the goal was reached?
Was it a journey begun but never ended?
Was it a statement finished before completion?
Perhaps it was your life
Wasted upon men, not worth saving.
Why do your glazed eyes
Still look so questing and searching,
As though, even in death,
You could be forgiving
Even me – your slayer?
Surely you must know
I bore you no ill will
‘Tis but my work I do
Simply and violently,
But not with spite,
Not with cruelty –
Not to you.
You there on the cross,
Can you hear me?
Listen, I would give up my spear
If you would but bid me –
I would follow you
Even though I should end up
In like manner.
It is not pity I feel for you now
But only pity for all
Who have condemned you.
Always I shall yearn
To have in my death
The feeling of your acceptance of me,
And the appearance of your dignity
You are the son of God!
K.E. Curtis – my dad
Be blessed this Easter- He came, He Saved, and He died for us all.