|Photo Credit: Gerd Altmann|
Long, brutal day of mockery, beating, and cruel cross,
Crown of thorns, nails driven into his hands and feet,
How to bear the terrifying darkness of our Master’s death?
I was not ready, nor could I fathom despair so thick,
Surely it will choke out my very life.
I ask you, Where go we from here?
But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was
bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace
was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.
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Labels: Good Friday, Passion of Christ