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.