The Pope had died, and I was moved to tears as I watched on television the whole of humanity come to pay their last respects.
I cried like I had not cried in a long time.
Along with Thoko, I wept—but I was crying for Jesus, not the Pope.
Jesus—the victim of the gravest miscarriage of justice the world has ever known.
Hanging over the casket in which the Pope lay was a figure on a cross, made of gold—arms stretched out, wearing a crown of thorns.
(The Bible tells us how this cruel mockery was thrust upon His head, the ultimate insult to a young thirty-three-year-old’s aspiration to divinity!).
Mercifully, this golden depiction of Christ on the cross showed ropes binding His outstretched arms.
For a moment, that small detail comforted me—until I noticed the nails.
The rope was only there to hold Him in place.
A stake had been driven through His insteps into the upright of the cross.
How painful was that?
His abdomen appeared sunken—as though He had been starved before execution.
I found myself crying for Jesus, and for all victims of injustice—past, present, and still to come.
The slap on His face before the Sanhedrin?
How easily we forget that He was a man too, and must have been badly hurt when struck on the cheek—powerless even to lift a hand in defense.
Did anger flash through His mind? Or fear?
How hard was that slap?
He was innocent, but it did not matter.
Nothing mattered except their bloodlust, disguised as religious indignation.
A Prayer
Dear Jesus,
You can exhale now.
Your humble servant has done you proud.
He has gathered the kings of the earth together in love,
And they now gather—two thousand years too late—
To bid You farewell.
Dear Jesus,
Your servant has honored You,
And put us all to shame—
Belittling our greed, mocking our pride.
He has made us all look small.
Our life’s work, naught.
Dear Jesus,
There he lies, in splendor, reflecting Your majesty.
You can rest now, Lord.
I fully understand Your beautiful message.
Dear Jesus,
You can rest now.
Your sufferings, Your pains, were not in vain.
Your humble servant has completed the circle for us,
And won back the glory and dignity
Denied You at Golgotha.
Remember him in paradise, dear Lord Jesus.
After the burial, Thoko turned to me and said,
“I’d like our son to become a priest.”
“That would be splendid, Thoko,” I replied.
And then, thinking of my variegated life, I added,
“I pray he finds help when he needs it.
I pray he does not choose to walk alone.
Better still, I hope Cardinal Lee, prince of the great Church,
will still be around to guide him.”
Father Lee!
Dear Father Lee…
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