I haven’t a clue what went down at Calvary
Centuries ago
You can put the things in a giant endless box
That I don’t know
I do know much of narratives
The stories we tell ourselves
There are true things in stories
That we create for ourselves
If you tell me Romans might have feared
What they didn’t understand
If you tell me Judas might have betrayed
Someone he loved and respected as man
If you tell me that 3 men were crucified
On crosses plunged deep into the land
If you tell me those that had love for them cried
As the the blood dripped from their nail struck hands
I’d believe you for the most part
I know these stories to be mostly true
I’d believe you at least in part
Because from experience these thing are true to you
People have ever been sacrificed
People have ever been betrayed
Maybe one was named Jesus Christ
Maybe he died today
No narrative sustains
That isn’t one that compels
No stories remain over centuries
That aren’t written in our cells
I’m somber not from a leap of faith
That is not my road
I’m somber for the parts I know are true
Those lying deep within our code
Sacrifice, love, and loss
Things which are often represented
By a lonely hill once bearing a cross
Which many hold when their sins are repented
Gene G. McLaughlin 2014
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