While I listened to a piece of Bach’s –
With more attention than I usually give,
Wondering what I could get out of it –
An image came to me.

The morning of the crucifixion,
A tradesman, a sometime follower,
Sticking to his shop,
Waited dank of heart,
Amid his pots and bowls.
As Christ cried out,
So he cried out,
Wordlessly, soundlessly,
At a loss he didn’t know
Would turn to gain.

And then,
My attention strayed to my brother
A secondary player,
A simpleton in a tawdry present-day affair:
I read again his message to me.
Jed asked for help, proud as ever:
Money or a character reference at his trial.
I could lie to gain him short-term relief
And more affliction later on for both of us –
The same old path.

Flee, O troubled souls,
Give up your suffering,
And fly to Golgotha,
For there salvation waits.

How we used to boast
That there’s no God to help us
And banished all hint of eternity
From our chatter,
While we went on with our
Callow derring-do:

Fraudulent schemes to lure the suckers in,
Extravagant promises no one could keep,
Living in advance the rewards of
Law-neglect that disappeared as
Quickly as they came,
While we mocked the ones who lack the nerve
To go after what they really want.
“I told them something today, I did;
I watched their jaws tighten.
You don’t win a big one every week,
So let me pay the bill.
I’ll deal with emptiness tomorrow.”

Who would dare to strike You?
Myself, my own misdeeds,
Countless as the sand beside the sea,
Have brought these woes upon You.

Jed’s way with the world impressed me,
Striking first and claiming self-defense,
Sniffing out the weaknesses of fools.
But we went too far, and when I warned him,
He mocked my scruples
And claimed I wanted to build
A cozy life without effort or risk,
That I would fail and he would rise,
As he did for a while.
He hungered for admiration, saw himself
The biggest thing in many people’s lives,
So some of us obliged and he became our idol.
Guess who served as high priest for a time?
Then he fell:
Picture in the papers every day,
Investigation, arrest, prosecution,
More than likely years in jail.

Your follower in Jerusalem,
Unable to prevent
The death of Christ
Was sure that happiness had
Gone for good.
He saw himself a hireling at the Cross,
Amused, efficient, cruel,
And shut the door
On farmer, housewife, cook,
To give himself to coal-dark prayer,
Sorry for his countless follies.
You had mercy on him, and
He heard for half a moment
The golden harmonies of heaven.

I read Jed’s message again
And knew that after years of soaring,
He’d have his fill
Of darksome conversations in crowded places
And the stifled feelings of bruised men
Who live with loss, restraint, and shame
And wonder if escape or help is possible.
As I listened to the Passion, I thought over what to do.
Let him stew? That’s Your way at times. Was it mine?
If I asked You to help him, You’d no doubt say,
“I send you.” In other words, walk with Jed
Through valleys of dismay
Deeper and darker than either of us expected.

Fly to Golgotha,
O troubled souls,
For there salvation....

Jed was right to say there is
No paradise on earth,
But bereft of sense to heed his own insight.
Punishment follows lawlessness like his.
He’ll tread a stony path,
Along which the fruits of pardon
Grow almost in secret.
He’ll curse and writhe
And wonder why his friends deserted him.
I won’t lie for him or pay
His way to leave the country.
I’ll tell the truth – about my own misdeeds as well –
And share the barren road beside him
With a wiser frame of mind
(Though that won’t satisfy him at first)

Until we reach its end,
Which might not come for quite a while,
Since Jed will surely think up another scheme.

His prayers done, he left his shop.
Three soldiers lounging by a door
Eyed him hopefully, wondering if
He might be one to understand
Their strangely altered feelings.
The image faded.

Bach’s piece ended with the joy of the penitent,
Which seemed facile to one who knows the way life goes.
But I couldn’t say for sure, since there are mysteries
That I promised to think about again –
Not right then but another day
That I’m sure has come –
About the question of the power of the Cross