Christ at the Crossroad

I have stood at many crossroads in my life,
But never one so rife with pain and agony,
O my Beloved, which you faced that night
In the lonely Garden, so iconic of fair Eden
Now fallen, in which you had the choice
To make between life and horrible death,
And with every breath you did wage war,
Sweating blood for humanity you adored;
In the end you said, ‘Send me to the cross;
Not my will but yours be done, my Father!’
How can I begin to comprehend that night?
All sensibility takes flight as the light fades
Into shades of darkness at the sight of you,
My Beloved, kneeling and reeling in blood
Seeping from the very pores of your skin
Knowing that you would begin the journey
To the very Pit, to Sheol, to the belly of hell
To overcome death by your death and life
In resurrection . . .
No, never will I fully know how much love
You did show that night filled with blight,
And never will I or anyone stand at this
Crossroad
. . .
But I do know you could have said ‘No!’

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