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The Witness
By: Allen R. Alderman
The day is not much like any other.
The sun is hot, the sky is clear.
And the people are gathered on a hillside
for a crucifixion.
I am among them.
I hear the mocking cheers.
And screams of horror.
I was there this morning.
I saw them accuse Him.
Witnessed the sentence,
the whipping, the mocking,
the spitting, and the carrying of the cross
to this place of death.
I see Him now,
see the twelve inch spikes.
the falling hammers,
the flowing blood.
And hear the screams echo
throughout the valleys.
And yet no scream parts His lips.
Through it all, He has
remained unmoved.
Mocking the mockers with His silence.
They drop the cross into the hole.
I hear the cracking of bones,
and the cries and pleas
from those around me.
As He hangs there,
I hear him speak to
His brother, the other accused,
And God.
As I look, His eyes meet mine
and for one moment
I see the pain, the love,
the restraint within them.
And then I hear
"It is finished."
And lightning splits the
sky assunder.
Thunder, rain and darkness
fall like death angels.
Washing the dirt from
His wounds.
Cleansing the filth
from His body.
The others have left now.
I stand alone.
And as I pause before
this one condemned,
I realize His innocence
and my guilt.
The blood that mingles now,
with mud and rain,
cleansing the world of its sins,
was shed for millions He never knew.
He died for me.
And as I look
to find my path down
the dark, lonely hill,
I shed a single, burning tear.
And then without a sound,
I turn and slowly walk away.
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Fading days of blue rush past your eyes.
Is e iomram an droch latha a ně latha math gu iomram.
Practice rowing in a rough sea and soon the rough sea will seem calm to you.
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The Witness, By: Allen R. Alderman
