GUILTY HANDS

Guilty hands held soldiers' lances, when they arrested my Jesus.
     My hands.

Guilty hands bound His arms behind His back when they dragged Him away.
     My hands.

Guilty hands swung the scourge that sliced His skin to ribbons.
     My hands.

Guilty hands wrapped sharp thorns around His blameless brow.
     My hands.

Guilty hands dropped splintered cross on His bleeding back.
     My hands.

Guilty hands stripped seamless garment from His holy shoulders.
     My hands.

Guilty hands threw Him, naked, onto rough, wooden planks.
     My hands.

Guilty hands held spikes to His sinless wrists, mallet lifted high.
     My hands.

Guilty hands pounded spikes through His chaste flesh, splashing His innocent blood.
     My hands.

Guilty hands held spike to His sacred feet, mallet lifted high.
     My hands.

Guilty hands slammed the spike through holy feet, into blood-stained wood.
     My hands.

Guilty hands lifted Him high and dropped rugged cross into hole.
     My hands.

Guilty hands pointed blame, laughed derision, mocked God.
     My hands.

Guilty hands wielded sword, plunged into His lifeless side.
     My hands.

Guilty hands pulled Him off the spikes and laid Him in the grave.
     My hands.

Guilty hands pounded breast in conviction for causing His passion.
     My hands.

Guilty hands clasped together, raised high in fervent prayer for His forgiveness.
     My hands.

Innocent hands raised high in praise and adoration for sins forgiven.
     My hands.