"By Stripes Healed"

"By Stripes Healed"
for Pastor Steve Krogh and Lois
~L. Page

If I had watched idly by from a sideline view
Never picking up the instrument of death,
But instead just spoken to myself on cue....
"'Tis not my execution, and he's deserving anyway;
'Tis not my strength by which the wounds rip and tear."

As though, "I am not without excuse, lowly, employed
For it was always my master who leveled the blows!"
Only hours later, standing guard and now annoyed,
Perhaps third shift stretched into first, five out of seven days
And I lacked my family and friends. The wear

Of such a burden on my back – but no blood or welts,
Nevertheless I should weep to myself in my mind
Even while watching the prisoners bleed, if I had felt
Anything but my own self pity! At last, to graze
Just a single kind thought, to someone else's cares.

But I did watch idly by, and not so idly after all
As my tongue would on occasion speak against
These men of God rendered to these walls;
And my careful, guiltless, watchful, trying gaze
"'Tis not the execution of my justice! My mere

"Passive willingless-ness! It would take violence
Here to shudder me. These men deserve to be
Put away and crushed, if only they'd be filled with silence!
They bring this condemnation in their own way
To justify their just reward!" But in my heart

I have seen their joy even as their words have poured
Forth with declarations of a mercy I've never known.
So now, tonight, these men have sung praises to the Lord
Even while shackled and bound, and new scars will stay
Upon their backs from the beatings they've endured.

Even sleeping through my shift, I dreamed my own
Condemnation – as though the very earth would shake
To my destruction beneath my feet. Such preparation!
I had only to ensure that the very men bound by day
Would through the night be subject to my stare.

If I had watched idly by from a sideline view
Never picking up the instrument of death,
But instead just spoke to myself on cue?
I'd never have learned that death itself on my awaking
Would be my new master. For the earth had fared

A true disaster, and these walls which formerly bound
Were loosed, and the stocks and shackles had broken.
In the dark I knew, with what little sympathy found
I, in my indifferent thoughts, that had I been so arrayed
In prisoners' garb, I would have fled so fast from there.

Not merely suspension or an employer's derision,
My very life would be taken if these men of God
Were found to be torn from this place. My decision
Was easy. I would execute mercy on my own way
And fall to my own sword to prevent a worse horror.

Tears in my eyes, no longer idly by, the "if" was proved!
These men, my charges, scourged and wounded, and otherwise
Dying, yet I always remained so callously unmoved.
I should meet this God, then, who would send his blaze
Of truth on the tongues of such doom! "Now, Sayer,

"Would you not save so wretched a man as I!?"
My eyes were darkened, dust falling all about me.
"Do not harm yourself!" a battered voice cried.
"We are all here, we have not escaped."
I felt, rather than saw, the dust begin to clear.

Even the darkness, then, became a vision of mercy.
I knew who these men had proven to be while among us.
But my mind had brewed its own confusion, not seeing
The very word of God in their mouths: That is, no way
But this Jesus who had, by his life and death so fiercely stirred

The officials and the powers that be, and the people,
And myself! Though I would otherwise refuse him.
I knew I was without excuse even as my feeble
Strength now failed me. These men armed with grace
Had faced their own deaths with joy in God's glory,

And I had watched idly by, and not so idly after all
As my tongue would on occasion speak against
These men of God rendered to these walls.
Now found I was crying out, "What must I do to be saved!
The quake had long passed, and now the impending story

Of my own doom at the hands of a merciless master
Was stayed as the prisoners identified each man;
They were all present and accounted for!
There was nothing of man or reason to compel my exclaim
In such an ignoble fashion, except deep sorrow

Now uprooted and exposed as I saw myself as I knew God saw me,
Helplessly lost, and more deserving of such bloody welts
Than these men could ever bear in their own bodies.
Just one thing: "On the Lord Jesus, you must believe
And you shall be saved!" And not only I, what mercy

My whole household could receive! It was a simple
Confession of my mouth, having seen with my eyes
And heard with my ears! What joy should fill my soul!
And so these men, shredded, broken, bleeding – nay –
Abused! Nay, crushed! The would-be executed! Now carrying

A man, whom they should hate, by their own forgiveness.
There was no escape, that night, but I was the one set free.
And so I bore these men to my own household.
Like the sinful woman who, once forgiven, would wash
Jesus' feet with her hair, at least I could share

A ministry of washing as I, myself, would piece together
The flaps of flesh hanging from their backs.
She had cried her tears to show her love; and whether
By empathy or if such sorrow is always
Mingled with tears of joy, I dressed the injuries

Born to these men by my own apathy. And we all
With joy began to sing out praises to the Lord
Who by his mercy had fulfilled what was always His call –
To bring to light what in darkness formerly bathed,
And to wash our wounds, for by His stripes we are healed.

(c) 2006 Leah Randelle