A Carpenter’s Easter Song…

[Crucified on my cross]

Two crosses and a half

Lay in the carpentry – wasted

Waiting for the next victim

On Pilate’s death row

 

Business was that bad

Not a single sale

Days, weeks and month

Wasn’t the Governor crucifying

That Barabbas, or any of his ruffians?

He’d better, or else I’ll close shop

Already I’d vowed not to make more

Until these two. And a half, are sold.

 

Then – a miracle happens

Jehovah answered my prayers

Pilate’s soldier rides into the carpentry

And purchases the two crosses

I smiled as we loaded them onto the chariot

Good business. Rarely did I sell two at once

 

 “Barabbas?” I ask

No, says he, and speaks of two thieves

Who have just been condemned

Then he gleefully he orders me

To complete the half done cross

As our king would be next to hang

 

“Our King?” I wonder

The Roman gives a wicked grin

And shoos the horses away

And shouts as he leaves:

 “Yes, King of the Jews,”

 

I don’t know much

About the Nazarene magician

In fact I have never seen him

Only heard of bizarre tales

About him and his gang

Spreading weird teaching

And we wondered how –

How – a mere carpenter like us;

That son of Yusuf and Miriam;

Who rode on a borrowed donkey

‘Cos he couldn’t even afford a horse;

A wizard who misled a bunch of grownups

Caused them to abandon their trade and families –

How would this guy?

Who couldn’t even hurt a fly?

A guy who told us to cowardly give the other cheek

How would such a person

Free us from Caesar’s clutches;

How could he, a homeless wanderer

Be our liberator? Our King?

 

But still,

But his words were not of this world

For sometimes they elated us

And other times pierced our hearts

And He gathered many followers

Dazzled by his magic

Healing the sick, and raising the dead

Multiplying fish and bread

Turning water into sweet wine

Walking on the sea and, calming the wild ocean,

But our eternal crave for turmoil and drama

Cheers of entry to Jerusalem last week

Became jeers this week

Chants of Hosanna, King of Peace

Changed curses and baying for his blood

As they demanded for the release

Of a bandit

 

When His day arrived

I couldn’t suppress my curiosity

Excitement at Pilate’s court was fever pitch

 ‘Crucify Him’ could be heard from afar

I just had to close shop and

Go and finally have a glimpse of him

But when I arrived at the court

He had already been condemned

Pilate’s jug of water, bowl and towel

Lay on the balcony dejected

 

I quickly dashed towards The Skull Plaza

Meeting wailing mothers

A breathless Simon of Cyrene

Recovering from the weight of the cross

 – And Veronica –bowls of tears in her eyes

 As she admired the Man’s likeness,

Printed on her handkerchief

In blessed blood and sweat

 

I hurried towards Golgotha

Only to find Him hanging

Between thieves

All the three… hanging

On the crosses I had made

I saw Him say something to the robbers

Then briefly stared at me

The rays from his eyes punctured my heart

Like the rusty nails

That went through

 His hands and feet

And into the wooden

Cross that I had made

Then He cried out

“It is finished”

And the darkness and the

 Earthquake in my heart

Trembled and troubled me for a while

Until I closed my carpentry

And followed the bunch of 12

To try and understand this story

Of an innocent man

Condemned and pinned

On the cross I had made

© Patrick Ngugi 270317

Inspired by Three Rusty Nails by Ronnie Bowman