Thursday, July 27, 2006

The Last Walk 

Each step, that day, O my Jesus, how hard it was,
that last, painful walk through the crowded holiday streets
beneath a burden incredibly hard to bear,
one foot following another,
a countdown you were born for,
each step one less to the time when you would walk no more
before tasting the depths of death.

Watching you in mind's eye, O my Jesus,
so many years after,
when the reality of this moment is doubted by so many in the world,
in my heart, seeing your blood and sweat streaked face marred beneath your thorny crown,
I contemplate your words, "Come to me, you who are heavy burdened," and know,
that as I watch you walk that short but o so long march
from the place of condemnation to the place of execution,
what weighs more on your shoulders than the hundred pounds of wood strapped to your arms
is the weight of so many sins,
my sins,
the griefs of a sin-drenched world
the darkness gnawing at the center of untold hearts,
a load you carried willingly
so that we might find rest.

O my Jesus,
may I, in my remembering,
learn to follow in your footsteps,
walking the road beneath the cross you give me
with as much love and willingness as my wavering heart can muster
for the love of the walk you took,
this day and always.


Susan E. Stone, 2006

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