Each day a story of suffering, victims assaulted from without.
But Jesus set his face like flint for Jerusalem,
Through whom all things were made, in whom all holds together,
Walked intently to the passion of the cross.
The wood longed to release him, the nails to surrender integrity,
All creation to serve its master,
But Christ held them firm, in suspense between earth and sky.
“Not yet. Not yet.
The poison is not yet drawn,
The wrongs not yet atoned.
It is not yet finished.
This one is not yet free.”
Tim McConnell, Easter 2017