These Are My JOTtings, Part #2

Snapshots of the First Black Friday

"A kiss to show the friend betrayed?"
No greater grief than this, I think
to serve for years the One obeyed,
then finally in Hell to sink.

His robe was torn, His tunic diced.
They spit on, slapped His Holy Face.
With nine-tailed cat His skin they sliced.
They stripped Him of His Royal Grace.

The insult of the mock trial done,
the injury of beatings raw,
denial of the Holy Son,
the Truth of Christ poor Peter saw.

Nail landed true on purest wrist,
feet bored, nerves bare, His side then speared,
the sky turned black as humans missed
the peace they sought in Him they feared.

The words He spoke, all wise and true
upon the rugged, splintery cross
had meaning for the ones He knew,
but sound as naught for those still lost.

The cup, full drained at darkest three,
God's Wrath placed on The One made sin.
This Substitute made elect ones free.
Perfection's Life with God, the Win.

How could He be from His Father torn?
How could The Trinity feel pain?
How full our sins on Him was borne
to make the Bridge of "Right Again"?

The Son eclipsed by earthly deeds,
then taken down to lie in state.
The day did end with blackened bleeds,
a perspective known as "It's Too Late."

by Jay O’Toole
on April 18th, 2025