Recoupable Injustice

[John 18:19-24]
The high priest then asked Jesus about His disciples and His doctrine. Jesus answered him, "I spoke openly to the world. I always taught in synagogues and in the temple, where the Jews always meet, and in secret I have said nothing. Why do you ask Me? Ask those who have heard Me what I said to them. Indeed they know what I said." And when He had said these things, one of the officers who stood by struck Jesus with the palm of his hand, saying, "Do You answer the high priest like that?" Jesus answered him, "If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil; but if well, why do you strike Me?" Then Annas sent Him bound to Caiaphas the high priest


-------------/Recoupable Injustice; The Thoughts Of The Officer Who Struck Jesus On Jesus’ Cruel Death


Its funny, sometimes you find yourself gazing at your reflection
Illumined
by the full moon in the same river you grew up as a child swimming
in, without a care in the world and without an ambition to spare
in your heart. But now you spit at the image you used to kneel before
full of wonder, giggling as you made
a poking transformation of yourself into concentric circles
if only you knew then, or that someone would have imparted
this knowledge before the present, that
some people, tragically are fated to be misunderstood
very often gusto or reinforced confidence, is mistranslated
or falsely transcribed as haughty pomp, or disdainful arrogance
and as quick as a flash
though well groomed, soft spoken and generally respectable
they become detestable, and your seething hatred becomes very
very
granular. their breathing, grotesque. Speech, repugnant
the manner in which they stroke their hair, gut wrenching
and from within a groundswell of righteous anger
justifiable, and hopefully within the eyes of Caiaphas laudable
bursts forth
I hate you for who you are, for what you represent
you nigger full of nigger lies
then after he is gone, long after his is crucified
and the throngs of bloodthirsty savages (much like yourself
you muse in retrospect) plod off to the next supercilious
thrill they conjure up
you are cut to the quick and struggle with lack of sleep
over the prospect that the growing murmurs from the towns
are true: an innocent man was just put to death
(a heinous scumbag set free in his stead)
that the earthquake was just a portent
of worse things to come....
that's analogous to what mom used to say
baby, if you don’t cease misbehaving you will corrupt
your will. and now you realize
how prescient she was, and that
you were really punching yourself when you hit that man
and your fears
and disgust for all the opportunities in life squandered
that this man would never, could never be acquainted or commiserate with
jealous
that he lived fully and realized his purpose with a recalcitrant conviction
at some point in the timeline of your life you
lost the ability to dream of
a future high priest or prominent Pharisee
forever relegated to sad and pitiable
officer of the court, afflicted daily
with regret and misgivings