Jesus set his face like flint
to the city that killed the prophets.
It was not by accident that he
landed among the raging storms
political, religious, and spiritual.
He set his face like flint
to the city that killed the prophets.
He set his face
to fear, hate, and jealousy,
violence, lies, and treachery,
division, wrath, and envy.
He set his face
To the agony of the garden,
the betrayal of friends,
the fists of soldiers,
the scorn of elders,
the dance of demons,
the might of empire,
the filth of politics.
He set his face
to bone studded flagella
that tore his flesh,
the weight of the beam,
the bite of iron nails,
the slow loss of breath,
the knowledge of impending death.
He set his face
to the full weight of sin:
theft, lies, adultery,
abuse, neglect, cruelty,
guns, bombs, missiles,
war, famine, genocide,
my country right or wrong,
silence, fear, cowardice,
complicity, ignorance, indifference.
He set his face
to cold death surging
through his veins,
to pulses of unending pain,
to the mockery of passersby,
to the contempt of those
for whom he’d die.
He set his face to
to you and me.
To all who lived
or would come to be.
To the criminals gasping at his side.
To the soldier watching as he died.
To the women gathered ‘round his cross
To all the least, the last, the lost.
Jesus set his face like flint
to the city that killed the prophets.
It was not by accident that he
landed among the raging storms
political, religious, and spiritual.
He set his face like flint
to the city that killed the prophets.
Under Christ’s Mercy,
Brent