The Good of Friday


I felt trapped. Separated from home by a landmark bridge and 500 miles, my studies at college were the loneliest of my life.

Buried in snow and differential equations, I had tapered. My existence seemed shunted, bound by the limit to which the frigid atmosphere of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula could carry my warbled pleas. I was singular, distanced from the familiar, the enjoyable, the comfortable. I felt unprotected and undefended. Monsters of despair bullied my self-talk and clawed at the empty space of me.

Still, in the dim of self pity I desperately tended a flickering hope. My spirit stretched toward Spirit as neediness found readiness in another. In a Man who knows rejection and isolation, for there was a time that He was lonely, too.

Lonely because of me. I’ve said ‘no’ to Him. Deserted Him. Ignored Him — over and over. You have, too. Even His Father distanced himself in this Man’s most desperate moment. Together, we have turned our collective back and willingly cast this Man aside.

Today we remember our rejection of Him. In my remembering, I want those college days near me. To feel fresh the pain and longing. To sit again in the desperation and frustration of wanting to be wanted. To be connected, known, and loved.

We are not trapped on a celestial orb, abandoned and alone, traversing in elliptical nothingness. We have been rescued from isolation. We need no longer be lonely. That is the “good” of this Friday.

Because of the Man, Jesus.

“He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not.”
Isaiah 53:3, ESV

Cock Crows

A poem of reflection on Luke 22:54-62
and the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.
Peter’s Denial — Carl Heinrich Bloch, 1873

Cock Crows

and again,
then again.

A cock crows with mocking validation —


Fear clubs the faithful
scattering them to disillusionment.

Demagogues posture and pose
seeking fault in the presence of Truth.
Their justice is blind to the Just.

End this!

Showers of spit and vociferous rage;
yesterday’s hero now naked spectacle;
shamed, abhorred —


Brutes count their rhythmic flagellations
and tire their fists in His flesh.

Humanity’s whipping boy.

His spike-dangled frame,
striped with blood rills of mercy
and broad cuts of grace,
jolts with atonement’s tremors.

And there we stand,
crowing like self-loving cocks —
once, twice, three times and more.

God-killers, we are.

Against our rebellious schemes
redemption’s momentum builds
tilting history on the fulcrum of His Cross.

From death’s grim hollow
this story crescendos to
a revelatory dawn —

when the cock will crow
in exaltation!

Copyright © 2015 Chris De Man. All rights reserved.

We Wait

~A Meditative Poem for Good Friday~

Holy seed.
Divine conception.
Incarnated promise.

Escape and sequester.
A home-going.

Brother to siblings.
A father’s apprentice.
Temple dweller.

Coming of age.
A Father’s pleasure.


Rebel teacher.
Traveling celebrity.


Compassionate healer.
Feeder of mouths.
Tender of souls.

Who is He?

Mary’s son.
Mad man.

A sacred feast.
A faithful few.
A traitor.

He prayed. He pleaded.
He wept. He listened.
He obeyed.

A kiss.

Accused. Abused. Abandoned.
Beaten and punished.
Mocked. Ridiculed. Cursed.
Kicked and whipped.
Flesh and sweat.
Blood and bits.
Exhaustion and agony.


And again.

Spare him.
Walk him.
To ‘The Skull.’

Hammer and nails.
Tendon and bone.

Suspended spectacle.
Naked. Humiliated.

Grief. Wailing. Mourning.
Disdain. Laughter. Self-satisfaction.

Guiltless for the guilty.
Justice through injustice.




It is finished.
The grave is full.

We wait.

Copyright © 2013 Chris De Man. All rights reserved.