Easter 2020: From the Throne.

By Olivia Simoni

From the throne you descended.

God.

Magnificent king creator.

To sit at our tables and feel

The weary of our spinning earth.

To look into our eyes.

God.

Covered in dust.

Breathing our air.

Naked, selfish, prideful things:

You chose to love

And not to obliterate.

Somehow leaning in more -

Daring to be one with us.

One of us.

And we,

The fleshy, lowly, broken creation,

Turned on you.

Our maker.

Our Lord.

Our everything.

We chanted for you to die.

We spat in your face,

And laughed at the violence,

As you silently allowed us to bind and whip

The back of...

God.

God.

On a tree.

Naked.

Our spit drying on his cheek.

His blood dripping from the crown we twisted.

To mock him.

I tremble.

I am sick at the thought.

This is our God.

From the throne,

He gladly chose

To be made low

And bleed to death at midday

On a public hill

In Jerusalem.

And through the hideous, taunting cheers of

His creation,

Had the gut-wrenching

Kindness

To beg for us

To be forgiven.