I look upon your cross
a body broken
deserted by friends
forsaken by God
scorned by all.
How can I blaspheme?
Upon the cross I see
the lips that accepted the kiss of a traitor
hands that reached out to give curing touch to a leper
feet prepared for death by the tears and hair of a prostitute
I join the oppressor and say "Surely this is the Son of God."
How can I blaspheme?
Yet I surely blaspheme
when I turn your passionate love into platitudes
your new way into a continuation of our desires
your gift of grace into a free pass
a relationship with a living God into self-analysis.
Shake me.
Mould me.
Stir me.
For I must proclaim.
Lord, grant me the courage not to blaspheme.
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