His limbs splayed, writhing, as he hung there,
Murmuring of a kingdom somewhere
The Roman guards had never been,
The sun beat on his darkened head.
He barely heard what the good thief said,
So swollen and plugged his ears were then.
“I thirst,” his mother heard him cry.
“Why have you left me here to die?”
But then, more lucid, “Here’s your son.”
He said that, looked from her to John,
Till they saw what was going on,
And all at once clouds hid the sun.
—James Matthew Wilson
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Does Just War Doctrine Require Moral Certainty?
Pope Leo XIV has made it clear that the U.S. war on Iran does not, in his…
The Church of David Bowie
David Bowie and the Search for Life, Death and Godby peter ormerodbloomsbury, 256 pages, $28 Thirty-four years…
Finding a Pulse
Trueman’s new book, The Desecration of Man, should further cement his authority. It supplements, focuses, and in…
