Today is the commemoration of that awful/wonderful day 2,000 years ago that a trial took place in Jerusalem. The charge was sedition and rebellion. The penalty was death. The verdict was guilty. Odd trial though, the judge decided that he would take the punishment himself, and pass the innocence on towards all his people. that is Good Friday.

Humanity was the one actually on trial. Their testimony was that they had no king but Caesar, and that is all they had at the end. The judge, the real king, stood up, was declared king and innocent by those that hated him and won the day. His justice was unlike those of the kings of this world, as it was passed on himself. He was most certainly not a fair judge, nor one just give people what they deserved. He had something better in mind, but it cost him, the God-man, his life. That is Good Friday.

Good Friday.


                 O My chief good,
How shall I measure out thy bloud?
How shall I count what thee befell,
                 And each grief tell? 
                 Shall I thy woes
Number according to thy foes?
Or, since one starre show’d thy first breath,
                 Shall all thy death? 
                 Or shall each leaf,
Which falls in Autumn, score a grief?
Or can not leaves, but fruit, be signe
                 Of the true vine? 
                 Then let each houre
Of my whole life one grief devoure;
That thy distresse through all may runne,
                 And be my sunne. 
                 Or rather let
My severall sinnes their sorrows get;
That as each beast his cure doth know,
                 Each sinne may so. 
Since bloud is fittest, Lord, to write
Thy sorrows in, and bloudie fight;
My heart hath store, write there, where in 
One box doth lie both ink and sinne: 
That when sinne spies so many foes,
Thy whips, thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes,
All come to lodge there, sinne may say,
No room for me, and flie away. 
Sinne being gone, oh fill the place,
And keep possession with thy grace;
Lest sinne take courage and return,
And all the writings blot or burn.

George Herbert, The Temple (1633)