From the movie The Passion
I look and watch the blood fall,
A silent drip that somehow I can not look from.
I am the reason for the blood
And I am the one who screamed for it.
The sound of a mother's weeping,
The harsh jeers from those around me,
And His labored breathing
Are like a knife, digging deeper and deeper
I called for this.
From the very beginning
My rebellious heart was the reason for this.
I can not clean the filth myself;
My heart is calloused, decaying, dead,
And I know it the more I watch Him.
I cover the outside with outward caring
And all the right words
But I am still bleeding my blackness under the surface.
The shame of it shrieks at me
With condemning, repetitive cries.
He suffers on my behalf -
Here I am, looking on.
He calls to me and I cringe,
Expecting to hear condemning and embittered words.
Again He calls.
Somehow, I look.
With bloody, trembling hands
He shows me the name written with His blood.
For a moment, I stare in disbelief.
A shudder runs through me
As every scoffing word, and every savage sin
Plays over and over in my mind.
“No,” He says. “That has been cleaned away.”
He pulls me to Himself and quietly whispers in my ear,
“I forgive you. I love you. You are Mine.”
In that moment, clinging to Him,
I know it is true.
He loves me.
Copyright © 2013 Ophelia M. Flowers