WE DON’T WEEP ENOUGH FOR JESUS

by Mariane Holbrook 

We don’t weep enough.
We don’t spend enough time on Calvary’s slope watching the hot blood course from His pierced hands;
hands that were placed on little ones’ brows
as He blessed them and drew them tenderly to his side;
hands that reached out to the destitute
to give food and drink and meaningful hope;
hands that touched the sick and grieving
to restore life and breath and new-found vigor;
hands that bathed others’ calloused feet
to give comfort and solace and needed relief,
hands that worked as a skilled carpenter,
but ministered as a caring Savior.
We don’t weep enough.

We don’t spend enough time beneath His cruel cross gazing up at His sweating brow, His contorted face,
His squeezed-shut eyes, His scalding tears of torment,
His dropped chin, his clenched teeth,
His twisted torso, His protruding knees,
His nailed feet, His near-naked body suspended aloft for all the world to mock and ridicule and spit upon.
We don’t weep enough.

In our rush from Good Friday to Resurrection Sunday,
We forget the stark solemnity of Saturday,
that day given to us to remember,
to contemplate, to agonize, to reflect,
to ponder, to meditate, to repent, and to cry,
to say, "Thank You, Jesus. Oh, Thank you."
We don’t weep enough.