Jesus Falls the Frist Time, Station III

"Do not forget the insults to your servant;
I take to heart the insults of the nations,
which your enemies have leveled, Yahweh,
have leveled at the footsteps of your anointed!"
Psalms 89(v88):50,51

I One step and then another; the sun blares
its strident brass rays on the parting throng;
a step with toes gripping a bloody thong
into the crowd's maw; a step through the glares
of smug accusers snarling their affair's
success; a step and the slivered cross's long
shadow licks the cobbles of human wrong.
You step. The cross drags. A frightened child stares.
Moist round eyes gather the crude spectacle
of death– a bleeding struggling weakened Son.
Confused tears surge as the maniacal
procession bellows past in sport and fun.
With horror this child glimpses your pained face
and wonders to what end loud humans race.

"When the soldiers had finished crucifying Jesus
they took his clothing and divided it into four shares,
one for each soldier. His undergarment was seamless,
woven in one piece from neck to hem;
so they said to one another, 'Instead of tearing it,
let's throw dice to decide who is to have it.'
In this way the words of scripture were fulfilled:
They divide my garments among them and cast
lots for my clothes. That is what the soldiers did."
St. John, 19:23.24

II
"You've beat him well, straight odds he dies this street."
--True my arm's sore, but he's a robust breed
who'll face Golgotha's test and in time greet
gaunt Charon's boat. "So you find here no need
to wager, eh?" --It would be theft, my friend.
"Ha, fine, I'll get your money later then."
--My purse will stay full, tis you who'll expend.
Arm strength is yours, winning bets is my ken"
--hmm, odd this day, what mood the crowd is in.
"What has he done, this Jew?" --Oh, he's the son
of their god. It offends them. "The shrill din
tells me as much, such noise beyond reason."
--Aye it hurts my ears, give this snail a prod
and let’s make quick work of their Son of God.

"My knees are weak from lack of food, my body lean for lack of fat.
I have become the butt of their taunts, they shake their heads at the sight of me."
Psalms 109(v108):24,25

III
Through sleepless night and into tortured morn
this laden and abandoned man has trod.
Where stand his chosen ones now? Do they scorn
the teacher who embraced them and defraud
the Love he shared with them? How His men turn.
When outcomes aren’t what they would deem, they shirk
all loyalty to Him and fully spurn
their victim king and to bare hovels lurk.
Beating, beaming, crying, clapping, the crowd
creates the drama of execution,
and walk the victim to death’s waiting shroud,
one step with a step to crucifixion.
The Man is turned by malevolent calls,
a butt of spear prods, our loving Lord falls.