I heard Him once, on a temple mission
To investigate His heresies, but
I was drawn, won, by His kingdom vision.
I listened as they plotted His demise,
Would not support, but would not speak against
Their schemes. I feared, as Pilate washed his hands,
And the lunatic crowds became incensed.
The women, always the women, gathered
Near the cross. I heard Him promise the thief,
Thought of His words of the temple, three days –
Watched as He cried to His Father in grief.
And I knew. The body must not be left.
Terrified, I faced Pilate with my plea,
Me – a Council member! I carried Him,
And cried as His precious blood covered me.
Later, I often sat on that stone seat,
And wondered at what happened in that cave.
Now my bones lie where His did, but in dust,
Waiting for the trumpet of Him who saves.
Copyright by the author
February 18, 2011