It came to this.
An ending in dust sticking to blood, body broken, searing pain, the final loud cry and breath drawn – defeat. Darkness came down.
It was the unjust end, the triumph of brutal power to end life – even the giver of Life – they cut him down.
His message was hope, new life and the Way to God. They silenced him. It ended in torture.
The wicked were sure now to have heard the last of any more messiahs. They went home satisfied with their human-justice satisfaction, clinging to their bitterness, while others mourned.
Mary and the other women stood beneath the cross; no one had any word to say.
In our own lives how many times do we come to the end? The total collapse of what held us in place in this life. The darkness, the bitterness, the injustice and the temptation of defeat. Why is it like this?