Cries from the Cross

As a high school English teacher, I am blessed to minister to many students, each with different needs, hurts, and pains. One student who especially touches my heart is nothing like me. If I could pick one student with whom my life seems to hold no comparisons, it would be her. She hates life, hates people, hates beauty and joy, and most alarmingly, hates that Jesus and Christianity represent hope and happiness.

But there is one passion we both share: writing. She writes amazing profound, though morbidly grotesque pieces that make my eyes water as I read them, knowing that these black, typewritten words on white paper reflect a life filled with pain, hurt, and heartache. She told me all she can write are pieces that are morbid; after all, she is a "cutter." I compliment the depth of meaning in her poetry, then look into her deep, searching eyes as they gaze at my face, seemingly unable to comprehend how I can be so happy, feel so loved, and be so fulfilled.

As I thought of how I can reach her--I an English teacher without any major training in psychology or counseling--the words of the Paul in I Corinthians 9:22b echoed in my mind: "I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some." So I got into her world. I wrote a poem for her that is morbid and grotesque. I wrote a poem about Christ on the cross. The result is gruesome and hideous. It is the kind of piece which I did not think I could produce. Then I remember that God works in our lives for multiple purposes. Maybe writing this poem was not only so I could impact my student's life, maybe, just maybe, God wanted me to revisit the cross of Christ one more time. Maybe I needed to come face to face with what He accomplished on my behalf and stare at it in the face once again. For this heinous, ugly act was done on my behalf. It was because of me.

Here is the poem:

Cries from the Cross

Jennifer Schulenburg

Disfigured and dismembered; indistinguishable figure.
Neither boundless beauty nor faultless form.
Despised, detested, deserted, discarded;
Nothing by anguish, affliction, and agony.

Carted away to the tree of torture.
Sorrowful sufferer led to the slaughter;
Servanthood enslaved, yet surrendered.
stricken and smitten; silent when shattered.

Blood splattered from broken brow.
Penetrated and pierced, poked and prodded;
Fragments of flesh lay lifeless and cold.
Vicarious sufferer; sanctioned sacrifice.

Slash and stab and slice and sever;
Snap, shiver, shout, scream.
Sorrow silenced as death clouds over.
Soul submitted; spirit succumbs.

Heavens crack and choke and chatter;
Creator and King is crucified.
Savagely seeking the sinner to blame--
Turn the mirror and see it's me.