It is Finished

I've got it, thanks

So why, beloved, do you live as if it’s not? 
You twist and cry on beds of wasps and nails. 
You whip yourself with lead and leather thoughts 
and stretch your body out on rumbling rails.

Rehashing sin is prodigal and dull. 
Confess, of course, then undertake to breathe 
and crack apart your shame-hardened shell. 
Release the dread you’ve ground between your teeth.

Lest you forget, my back was stripped and flayed 
so peace and praise could tumble off your tongue. 
My wrists were nailed, humiliation splayed 
as I hoisted sin with failing lungs.

So please believe: redemption needs no help. 
It’s insulting when you crucify yourself.

                          —First appeared in The Christian Century, April 2025