But I Fear I Am Barabbas

His robe hanging about Him,
His face bloodied by a crown
That pierced the skin around His eyes;
All our sins, painful to wear,
Carried in the weight of a tree He chose to bear-
Up the hill, and down the street,
Abandoned by His Bride,
The sting of wood against His flesh,
The lashes hugging His sides.
"Don't let it happen, God in Heaven,
It isn't right." said I,
While at once seeing my reflection
In His tormented eye-
Oh, to be Veronica, wipe His Blood and tears away-
To be anybody in that crowd, crying out His name
And not with hate, oh, never hate,
But love for Love Himself.
But I fear I am Barabbas, that I would rather Him than me,
And watching hope of freedom die,
Think that I go free.
I fear that I am Peter,
Denying One whose life saved mine;
I fear that I am Judas,
With a kiss to commit a crime;
I fear I am the Pharisees,
And love the law without its Heart.
I know that I am all of these,
And, knowing, fear at last
That I could never wash His feet with tears,
Nor anoint His head.
I cannot seem to mourn Him, yet still-
Believe Him- dead-
Would that I could kiss Him,
Would my soul be honest then.
Would I loved Him perfectly,
Even and especially when
That love would pierce me, as a sword,
Rent curtains into two,
See His Mother weeping in the rain,
And drive me to weep there, too.
Would I loved Him perfectly,
Enough to repent that much;
Would I could be there with Him today,
And watch as I crucified Love.

Written last year on Holy Saturday. 

Thither?

The past few years have been strange ones, hard ones, but also good ones in several ways. The past few years, I've been blogging, with varying levels of consistency, and, overall, it was a good experience; the internet opens another facet of life where you can make a complete fool of yourself, and hopefully learn from it, or at least make some friends along the way ("Yes, Algernon, perhaps the real internet was the friends we made along the way.").

This ol' blog was here through withdrawal, therapy, prep and then initiation into the church, my mother's extrication from our house, her brain-tumour diagnosis and surgery last year, and I am truly grateful that nobody sent a sketchy parcel like Percy Weasley's pen-pal; or, in short, I'm just truly grateful for the immense kindness I've been shown in this minute corner of the blogging community.

And, well, I haven't kept up with this space much recently, not as much as I once did. It's been a busy few months; I even leave the house now, about every single day; I live next to the ocean, am on anxiety medication, take voice lessons, and am planning to get a driver's license; at this rate, I might even go to university, or adopt a bunch of elderly cats, or become fluent in Danish and set up Copenhagen's best ever Bananagrams society. Probably not, but, you know, that seemed an efficient way to demonstrate hope for the future.

There are reasons, mental and emotional and spiritual, why it seems prudent to retire from this blog, at least for a while. My parents are finally getting divorced, Rose will graduate with her degree this summer, and as for university, it sounds like my kind of party (sadness, stress, exhaustion, making soup from whatever is in the fridge, incising and draining abscesses with primitive implements, etc), and not this coming year, but the year after, God willing, I'll be at one.

In the meantime, once more unto the breach, dear friends. Keep in touch (email, Facebook, Twitter). Remember, you are loved.

God bless,
Grace