They said he died for me
And washed away my sins
They said his bloody stripes
heals every bruise and pain
They said he rose again from a tomb
As he does every year and triduum!
They said he loves me so
And erased my every sin
But why does he love me so?
I stole his brother’s hammer
And hit it on his sister’s head
I cursed and denied his Mama
And scattered his father’s herd
The little ones he beckoned to himself
I abandoned to the world as prey
Yet all my secret scarlet sins
They said he cleansed without delay.
And why does he love me so?
I snub him at the chapel
Yet he guards through turbulent nights
Like Cain, I misused the scalpel
Unwavering still, he dots on my kind
His palms, his feet, his bleeding side;
His friends denying, his mother sighing,
His mercy and cries of “Eli, lama sabathani”
Each Easter story, I hear from grandma
Pressured, I embraced his love but why?
Not for his herd who calls his name just for the fame
Not for the fast from food but for the abstinence from sin
Not for the bunny nor the Easter eggs for bread
Neither for the games that end the paschal feast
Not for identity in his fold nor the Pharisees’ praise
Not for the glamorous robes donned at Easter dawn
Not for the seasoned lamb on a platter of gold
But for the lamb that was slain and is slain each day in sin.
And now why should I love him so?
They said he died for me
And washed away my sins
They said his bleeding stripes
heals every bruise and pain
His sacrifice, my gain, he wishes that I replicate
The washing of feet and sharing of bread
To live his life the way I bear his name,
Christ-like – no more from me, no less.
On why he loves me, he said;
To pass on the good in the multiplication of bread
To break the bread of hate and drink the wine for peace
To wash the feet from greed and the stains of sin
To carry the cross and know it’s not an easy road
To follow his path and rid the heart of scores of wrong
To raise the eye in prayer to him when words fail the lips
To feast in his name, to make him the host
To shout the hossanna cry in spirit and truth.
Just why does he still love me?
I have cursed and caused,
Lots of trouble in his name
Forty days he sacrificed
Forty days, I compromised
In his sweats were drops of blood,
In my sweat were the wages of the weak
Why have you forsaken me? His yearly cry,
Why have you forsaken me, my only prayer.
So I sat on the staircase at noon
And heard his reply to all my whys?
His hands in nails, his side in pain,
From his words so pure came the reply,
Father, forgive them,
For they know not what they do.
