Abba Father,
My heart and reason
tell me that you’re a demon,
You'd condemn your son to crucifixion
that mankind might be saved -
Might – the off chance,
not the power in me,
but the power given to them,
'Might' they only believe in it,
to be as I am, a Child of God.
Still, I’m scared to death of dying,
to know my destination, its humiliation,
that in a sunrise, I’ll be stripped naked,
flogged mercilessly and crowned with thrones
“King of the Jews”. I grieve.
I grieve that I’ll have to carry my cross up Calvary,
only to hang on it with nails of treachery,
and in a sunset, you’ll forsake me,
the one in whom you are well pleased.
You’d turn your eyes away from me.
How can I drink of this cup that is as bitter as gall?
I have no peace; it left at supper
and sold me out for a bag of silver.
Judas, my brother and friend
with whom I’ve broken bread
summons my executioners.
Now I’m here at Gethsemane,
sweating blood and seeking strength
to combat all this distress.
But how can I be strong?
How do I surrender to your will
when this is what it means?
Peter, James and John, my dearest friends,
they sleep as we speak,
unable to keep watch with me.
And as soon my captors come,
they, like Judas, shall abandon me, too.
Alone I will be with this fate, with this fear
that shakes me to the core.
Hell has prepared a banquet in my honour.
If I sin, they win my soul along with the saints,
waiting for me in purgatory.
For this reason, I must obey,
I am compelled to obey - unto death -
that I might become sin to overcome it.
But my human faculties challenge my obedience,
my heart rebels against subservience, and my mind
questions your character in ways I dare not utter.
Verily, verily, now I see how great Adam’s fall was.
"If you are willing, Abba, take this cup from me.
But not my will, but yours be done."
So to the devil in my doubts I say:
"Father, I have hidden your word in my heart
That I might not sin against you."
I wage a war within me, a war with this flesh,
as it screams in the blood running down my forehead,
the casualties of my heart and reason:
be strong oh my soul, and march onward!
do not be afraid nor discouraged
Death might have me, but he does not own me.
The feast he plans shall be thwarted.
So Death be not proud, though some have called you
mighty and dreadful. It is not so.
I might sleep tomorrow, but my rest means your death.
It will be finished, the work set before me.
Thank you Father for the grace to see this through!
Yours is the Kingdom, the Power and Glory
For now and forever
Amen
Samuel Rubadiri 