Accustomed to the Cross

A-Poem-a-Day
Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: thoughtco.com

ACCUSTOMED TO THE CROSS

I’m accustomed to the Cross.

I’ve seen it since childhood

gleaming high atop steeples,

crucifixes behind altar rails,

on hospital walls,

on bedroom walls,

depicted in framed masterpieces,

depicted in sculpted masterpieces,

described in written masterpieces,

marking graves in cemeteries,

illustrated in holy books,

affixed to lapels,

tattooed on forearms,

hanging silver and golden

and studded with diamonds

and sapphires from the necks

of men, women, children—

hanging, hanging on my mind.

So accustomed, yet

sometimes it is everywhere

and I don’t see it at all.

Today I see it afresh

sturdy and wooden and terrifying

through Good Friday eyes

that send streams down my cheeks

as blood streams from His wounds.

I shudder,

mindful of the Man

dying upon the beams

and the reason He is there—

Shudder

at the horror of it, Jesus my Lamb,

at the magnitude of it, Jesus my King,

at the love upon it, Jesus my Friend,

and my gratitude for it,

O Blessed Jesus,

my precious Lord and Savior

Who by His Death

and Resurrection

purchased eternal life…for me.

Maude Carolan