A Story of Forgiveness
As the death of the spouse
on the day of marriage,
so grievous was my soul
on the day it betrayed the Lord.
As miserable as the mother of the first-born
who perishes as soon as he comes out of her womb,
so mournful was my spirit
as it awoke from its oblivion.
As a man discovering the ruins
of a wrecked town,
so was I discovering
the state of my soul.
Deluded as my eyes were,
believing the debris was green grass,
deceit harshly welcomed me
as the image of reality became clearer
with every step into my own town.
As I lament over this tragedy of mine,
and make my cries sound in loud weeping,
even louder do I hear a voice,
a voice that is louder, yet softer,
'Ephraim, how could I part with you?
Israel, how could I give you up?'
With drops falling on my head,
I raise my eyes to see the owner of the voice,
and notice a spear being held high
in the middle of all the ruins
and from its tip
blood and water
in a stream towards me.
As the river poured itself on me,
bathing me to my very core,
the viscous guilt that covered my whole skin
was at once gone,
and my insides
became white as snow.
And as soon as the stream touched me,
the buildings of the town were restored
with scaffolds the shapes of a cross
and walls made of divine flesh.
Into my bones
a deep sense of joy rushed in
the way blood rushes into vains:
the joy of salvation,
that served me as a sign
to know that I was indeed forgiven.
Filled with such a kind of joy,
that is unreachable anywhere in this world
unless through what came from that lance,
and moved by the Spirit,
known to the people has this event been made,
by means of my mouth.
Let the praise due to this voice
for this God is a God of compassion