Category Archives: Good Friday
HE DIED
POETRY BY KATHY BOECHER© At the hour of the evening sacrifice, Jesus died. His stricken body had suffered unbearable torture, even for the Son of God. At last the weight of the sin of the world crushed him. He died, … Continue reading
THE CURSE OF THE CROSS
Roman crucifixion was considered to be the most painful, disgraceful and horrific forms of torture. The hands and feet were bound and nailed to the cross. The pain was excruciating. There was strain on the wrists,, shoulders and arms. The rib cage was … Continue reading
THIRST NO MORE
POETRY BY KATHY BOECHER© It seemed as though the thirst would never be quenched. As Jesus hung on that horrific cross – he expressed his need for water – he expressed his connection and disconnection with his father – showed … Continue reading
HE WAS PIERCED FOR ME
POETRY BY KATHY BOECHER© A babe so soft, a child so sweet, lay on a bed of hay, His mom looked at the dimpled hands and counted fingers at play. His hands would grow with bruises and scuffs as children so often … Continue reading
THE FINAL SACRIFICE
POETRY BY KATHY BOECHER© A tender shepherd walked this earth with love within his touch, His words could calm the troubled sheep, His hands led them through much. He chased away the predators, He brought them safely home. He often searched … Continue reading
WHAT’S GOOD ABOUT IT?
There doesn’t seem to be anything good about Good Friday. The streets were lined with an angry mob demanding the death of three men. Two deserved to die, the other didn’t. Hidden in that crowd were a few of Jesus’ followers, … Continue reading
THEY WATCHED HIM DIE
John and Jesus’ mother, Mary, followed the Via Dolorosa and watched the mighty warrior, Jesus go forth into battle. By this time, the Son of God had gone through a kangaroo court, been put on display before two Roman leaders, beaten … Continue reading
HE SUFFERED AND WAS BURIED
In remembering my little babe’s hands, I recall ten tiny fingers on smooth dimpled hands. These little fingers would grasp tightly to mine and in an instant he took hold of my heart. Each day, as he grew, those hands became bruised and scuffed as … Continue reading
