Good Friday

You are the bread broken for me.

The matzah bread broken, hidden and found again.

You are the Lamb of  God, slain for the sins of the world.

You were wounded for my transgression,

And bruised for my iniquities.

Your bore my sorrows on the cross.

The chastisement for my peace was upon You.

By Your wounds I am healed.

Gratitude!

That You wept in the garden.

Receiving the cup, though it meant

The Father would have to turn His Face

Away.

Holiness could not gaze upon the sin

You became.

You became sin for me.?!

All my iniquity, passed down through generations.

On your back.

My transgressions. My sorrow. My sickness.

Darkening the Holiness of You.

Until You were no longer visible.

You became sin.

But the grave. The black, prideful hole of defiance

Was swallowed up in

VICTORY!