Would I touch the open wounds of Jesus

if he were to stand in the lonely places

of my heart?

Would I dare thrust my hand into his

side like a spear?

Would I gently place my fingers

in the palms of his hands?

There are places where crucifixion

wasn’t fiction at all.

The suffering of the cross cascaded

down through history,

it being the pinnacle of paradox.

The place where love and hate intersect.

So now we sometimes use innocent

suffering and death as a crucible

of the non-fiction Christ.

We read history books to numb any

existential wandering in our own

back yard.

There are crucified hearts laying,

one by one, without a beat,

hoping loosely for a resurrecting

touch, look, hug.

Will I look at the whole worlds suffering

and lose their own soul?

I don’t want Your death to be in vain

when there are opportunities to

touch the open wounds of those

near by.