A Grieving Sacrifice

They wail, sorrow spilling into the dust,
tears carving rivers down trembling cheeks.
Daughters of Zion, voices rising,
a lament carried on the wind.

He stands, bent beneath the weight,
His body torn, His breath unsteady,
yet His eyes hold something deeper
than the pity they offer.

“Do not weep for Me,” He says,
“but for yourselves and your children.”
A warning, a call, a sorrow greater
than the wounds upon His flesh.

The world does not see its own bleeding,
a blindness more crushing than the cross.
Still, He speaks; still, He grieves,
not for Himself, but for them, for us.

Would that our tears were not in vain,
but rivers that cleanse,
waters that turn our hearts toward Him,
sorrow that brings forth abundant life.

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Let us pray:

Even in suffering, Your love remains.
Your heart sees beyond pain,
beyond wounds, beyond the moment.

Turn our sorrow into conversion,
our mourning into renewal.
Let our tears bear fruit,
not in despair, but in grace.

May we heed Your voice,
teaching our children to walk in Your light,
turning not away, but toward the mercy
You so freely give.

Amen.