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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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