I wish I knew who to attribute this to.
Who were these women,
walking the path with Jesus,
this innocent man?
This One who showed them
they were not to be trampled –
thought as second class.
This One who showed them
they could learn and understand
scripture, and His words.
Who were these women
who did not turn away as
He was crucified?
Exhibiting strength
in their engulfing anguish –
strength I cannot know.
Facing the horror,
these women were not silent.
They howled in their grief,
but also in their
denunciation of this
slaughter of virtue.
Inconsolable,
but not without perception,
and not without hope.
As they witnessed His
final words, were they surprised?
This man that they loved
wasn’t just a man.
Even the centurion
who observed His death
exclaimed, “Certainly
this man was the Son of God.”
My Lord, and My God.
Through their mourning eyes,
did they sense that this dear man
was their Messiah?
Forgive me, my Lord.
I would not have had the strength
to attend to You.
Lamentably, I’d
have worried, crying to You
from my peaceful home,
averse to falling
apart with the sufferer.
(Forgive me, my friends).
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
