In one garden,
the lie was chosen
over the will of God,
and nature
groaned under the curse
and the grief
and the countless tears
of mankind
that followed.
In one garden,
quietly,
one full moon night
the will of God was chosen
over the lie
and nature knew
the promise of healing
that would free a woeful mankind
of its tears
had begun
in the unfathomable grief of
the one who said yes.
Let me never forget how you gave yourself, O Lord, to the soldier's whip,
three thongs of leather braided together, each thong capped with a biting tip.
How they gathered together,the soldiers there, with blows of anger and mocking,
Twisted together the wreath of thorns in jest for a brutal crowning.
How unfairly condemned you were that day with two thieves at your side --
Yet by all of this, the blood you shed, and the hard death that you died,
you wrought our salvation.
Still today we hold the soldier's whip so tightly in our grasp,
Hearing the leather hit your back and your breath's quick choking gasp,
the flagellum with its biting teeth flailing through the air
The blood from the crown we weave anew dripping down in your hair
each time we choose to hurt, to have the final say,
each time we chose to have by force, intent on just our way,
each time we ignore the need, and choose to gloat instead,
each time that we laugh at good, and wish another dead
instead of longing for your salvation.
Have mercy, Lord, on the hardness of our heart,
The many many sins and darknesses that tear this world apart,
Warm us in spite of our coldness, so that we might heal instead of harm,
to bless instead of curse with your strength in our strong arm,
to love instead of hate, when anger fills our life,
to be your word of peace instead of tools of strife,
to the the tools of your salvation.
Instead of the whip, O Lord of life, give us hands of peace,
Give us true repentance to make that harsh whip cease.
Forgive us all our hardness that beats you more and more,
O with your grace, O Lord of Love, may we may go and sin no more,
rescued by your salvation.