Would I touch the open wounds of Jesus
if he were to stand in the lonely places
of my heart?
Would I dare thrust my hand into his
side like a spear?
Would I gently place my fingers
in the palms of his hands?
There are places where crucifixion
wasn’t fiction at all.
The suffering of the cross cascaded
down through history,
it being the pinnacle of paradox.
The place where love and hate intersect.
So now we sometimes use innocent
suffering and death as a crucible
of the non-fiction Christ.
We read history books to numb any
existential wandering in our own
There are crucified hearts laying,
one by one, without a beat,
hoping loosely for a resurrecting
touch, look, hug.
Will I look at the whole worlds suffering
and lose their own soul?
I don’t want Your death to be in vain
when there are opportunities to
touch the open wounds of those