Holy ground, where are you now?
The place Jesus stood before the High Priest…
Do you still remember?
Where are you, dirt, which the soldier stood upon and leaped to strike his face when he refused to answer Caiaphas?
What did you feel?
Pungent soil, where he was blindfolded, mocked and taunted,
Spat upon, stripped naked and scourged.
How did you hold his blood?
Though Jews had an ancient law prohibiting no more than forty lashes…
A Roman soldier held the whip-wielding, unleashed fury from hell.
Did you quake with the horror of this violence on your watch?
Holy dirt, where Jesus spent a sleepless night,
Battered, bruised and dehydrated, did you feel his dripping blood?
Did your cool surface calm his bloody body?
What horrific ground you were under Pontius Pilate and haunted ground of Herod Antipas the Tetrarch.
Back, once more, to Pilate to trade Barabbas for the broken Savior.
Did you quake at the horror, the screams and the cries of the crowds?
Holy muck, did you see him stripped naked and shoved and sexually violated?
You, the stage, where his hands and feet were pounded with nails four and a half inches long, do you still remember?
Did you anoint yourself with his blood?
Dark Golgotha soil, you received the cross of Jesus crucified. Were you horrified?
As his body gave way to asphyxiation, shock, sepsis, and a spear daggered into his side and blood poured out; How did you bear this scene? This witness of death, are you still stained today?
And rain-soaked, tear sodden mud, did you hold his mother and friends?
How did you stay when everyone else left? How much blood remains soaked in you?
Is this why you quaked, dearest earth, at the hallowed death of your Lord?
Holy mire, what did you see when dead Jesus descended into hell?
What was the cost of Jesus taking back every key? Did you see that?
Hallowed earth, I wish you could speak, for you, too, bore a great cost.
Bloodstained, soaked dirt, keep me alive to the ascension.
Help me, blood-stained ground, to hold fast to what you know of his second coming.
Holy earth, keep me waiting with the hope of His bloodied body broken for me.
Becky Allender lives on Bainbridge Island with her loving, wild husband of 42 years. A mother and grandmother, she is quite fond of sunshine, yoga, Hawaiian quilting and creating 17th Century reproduction samplers. A community of praying women, loving Jesus, and the art of gratitude fill her life with goodness. She wonders what she got herself into with Red Tent Living!
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Beautiful poem. Every word is so well chosen. Amen and blessings on this Holy and Terrifying day of the crucifixion.
Claudia, thank you. Such terrifying day…you got that one right!!
I turned to RTL this morning hoping to find a connection to the weight this day holds. As I read and re-read your words, I found myself roused with the desire to go lie naked with my body pressed against the dirt, longing to become one with the stories this Earth holds. So many stories. So much horrific pain. So much amazing beauty and Glory in His story! Thank you so much for sharing Becky.
Christine, thank you. I think that is incredible that you wanted to lie naked on the earth. I am intrigued and wonder if this strange time of Covid 19 that we are needing to be grounded unlike any other time since we are physically moved apart from human beings. Instead of my daily dose of acting like a human being each day by lying on our hammock….maybe I will lie on the ground. (Most likely with clothes on).
I clearly remember when I was at the Allender center for my cohort and Dan did a teaching on the cross… it was hard to want to stay and listen as he desensitized what going to the cross actually was like… and I feel what you shared here… in the deepest of places… walking us to the ugly beautiful of the cross!!
Ro, thank you. It’s always good to hear from you. How horrific the crucifixion is in every way.
Today my heart has turned repeatedly towards the chain of events known to happen on Good Friday; trying to feel and honor the cost Jesus paid for me. The imagery in your words brought me to a deeper level of connection to the reality of the cross. The feel of the soil, the earthy smells, the memory in the ground were so tangible through your description. Thank you for capturing this terrible beauty in such a rich way. Blessings to you and your family for this holy time.
Louise, thank you for writing and I loved how you said this: “Thank you for capturing this terrible beauty in such a rich way.”
Waiting with hope. Vivid imagery to imagine what the ground saw and heard. For those of us who have experienced horror, it gives new imagery to the phrase “not alone”.
I love this sentence you wrote: “For those of us who have experienced horror, it gives new imagery to the phrase “not alone”. And…it makes me think of how needy we are to have a witness to our trauma and sorrow.
Becky, As I ruminated on this I thought of the verse in the Bible that says if we do not praise him the very rocks will cry out. Earth, dirt, rocks, mud, muck….basic, primal, bearing witness to his death. How can we not cry out, if the very rocks cry out? This was written with raw, intense emotion. Thank you for sharing this with us. It is disturbingly beautiful.
Thank you Barbara. Yes, yes, yes…all creation cries out!! How I long for all creation to cry out when Jesus returns. Also…I love your sentence: “It is disturbingly beautiful.”
“And rain-soaked, tear sodden mud, did you hold his mother and friends?
How did you stay when everyone else left? How much blood remains soaked in you?
Is this why you quaked, dearest earth, at the hallowed death of your Lord?” The earth quaking takes on a whole new meaning for me as I read these words of yours. The All Knowing, All Powerful One who created the earth died…. horrified earth could not contain its grief.
Lately I’ve been imagining the quaking of His disciples, Mother and friends as well. How glorious , exciting, and amazing it would become, but tonight it would’ve been a lot of traumatized, quaking and crying. Thank you Becky for this intensive look inside the most holy and traumatic event of our faith.
Laura, I am interested in what you have found out about the quaking disciples, mother and friends….I didn’t realize the accounts of the women going to the tomb. One account might have been six women!!
Becky- I have gone back to read this exquisitely written poem several times. It is a riveting piece that holds so much descriptive pain and beauty. Your closing line ” Holy earth, keep me waiting with the hope of His bloodied body broken for me.” is prayer I cling to. Somedays it is so hard to stay tethered to that hope. Thank you so much for writing this. I feel the weight of it. Hugs from Colorado!
Dear Megan, thank you. It is hard to stay tethered to this hope. Hugs from Washington State!