Good Friday Meditation The Thoughts Of Others Poem by James Tipp

The Thoughts Of Others

The killing machine moved in double ranks
Shields held close to the chest, gladius’s polished
Sharpened ready for the task ahead, the killing zone
The temple echoed the tramping slap of studs on stone
The legionnaires braced themselves for trouble.
But the crowd fickle and easily swayed cried out
Crucify, Crucify, a fellow Jew cast to the wolves
No need to fight today, Pilate scrubs his hands
They have a prisoner to play with, death
The deterrent that silences all, the final act awaiting.

The crowd hear the tramping feet, feel the vibration
The priest, pause in their deliberation, will Pilate bend?
Or act as he has done before to humiliate them for pleasure.
Politics are played with high stakes, Jesus as a Caesar!
If the spies have done their job Pilate will ignore their plea
Yet even he must play the game of being Caesar’s friend
So Herod will not ruin his post with the charge of indifference.
The crowd on cue cry Crucify, we have only one Caesar
The words strike the walls rebound around his mind
He plays it safe, why not? There’s life beyond Jerusalem.

Barabbas stands bemused, puzzled, angry and defiant
Readied for death, he struggles with life, caught in limbo
Jesus he knows and despises, a lover of people, all people
Did he not cure the centurions slave, and spoke of his faith?
What faith can a pagan have or a tax collector come to that?
Yet here he stands in his place, to be crucified, for what?
For healing the sick, for preaching love of enemy.
The peasants love him, he feeds their minds and souls
It’s said he fed their bodies to, but miracles I think not.
Just another messiah hailed but soon to be forgotten.

The seller of sweat meats gazed at the backs of the crowd, and sighed.
Another day of death for some poor souls, nothing to get exited about,
Yet the families and friends, the curious and the ghoulish, gathered.
Lined the streets wailing to a God who has not heard for a millennia
Trade will be slack for a while, till the soldiers have tramped past,
Until the families and friends have recognised their God’s deafness.
Outside the walls the screams will be drowned by the noise of Jerusalem
Then life will return to some kind of normality, Passover madness awaits.
The city streaming with pilgrims jostling by his stall, buying his wares
The wailing will be forgotten, nothing every changes, death is final.

Thomas cannot believe he is here in the crowd hiding
They could not have been this wrong, could they?
The fly covered face, oozing blood, bears little resemblance
Where did all that power go? All the vision for something new
The talk of the Kingdom of God coming to free them all.
What kind of freedom is this? death has always been here.
I cannot believe this is the end, yet I cannot believe it is not
I am torn in so many ways, hurt by the deception of love
Hurt as I see his pain and agony, the dripping wounds
So much for believing in a God who acts and cares, fool.

The beggar is trampled on and kicked out of the way
This is his spot and he always sits here, but not today
The soldiers push him and everyone else off the road
The crowd ignore him lying on the dirt, whoever sees a beggar
He hears the name called out as a woman passes by ‘Jesus.’
Not the Galilean surely, the one who did notice the poor,
What could he have done to deserve this awful death?
There will be many a sorry tale to tell tonight with his passing
He once gave my friend his sight, but nobody believed him
How sad to see such goodness rewarded like this.

Mary watches from afar, her silent prayer to God
You saved him from Herod so long ago, save him now
Her mothers anguish blocks the remembrance of his mission
“I am about my fathers business”, said so long ago on these steps
Can this humiliation and agony be part of a greater plan?
From where she stands it looks as though her world has crumbled
Mary from Magdalene weeps by her side, whilst John tears his hair
All three are just observers on the tide of history, disconnected
By the soldiers, by the priest, by the fear they carry within themselves
“Woman your son, son your mother” the last gasps of breath are gone.

The high priest’s spy watches without malice or compassion
This is just another job in another day for another gold coin.
He will wash away his distaste of this butchery after the death.
His masters will merely want to know the facts, is he dead?
Nothing else will suit their aim, so they will be pleased.
He neither cares no ponders on the rights and wrongs,
Only the rich have the luxury of have the freedom to choose.
They reach the spot, the deed is done, the spear goes in.
Dead it is over and done, now for my reward and that drink.

The crowd begin to move, but not soon enough
The clouds have darkened the sky and delivered their verdict
Rain cascades down and the earth seems to shake and tremble.
The Romans are keen to leave, their work complete, death delivered
Joseph approaches with caution, cautious of the Romans and the priest.
There is danger in claiming the body from both sides of this equation.
Saddened by such an end, their talks after dark had raised a spark of hope
God had not forgotten his people, there was a newness in his message
Now the corpse weighs heavy in the rain, his face a mask of pain
The tomb a thoughtful gesture to someone he admired and respected.