I don't think it's hyperbole to say that "All torturing questions find / Answer beneath those old grey olive trees." The answers that linger there with Jesus in Gethsemane may not be exactly what you would have hoped for, but they are the answers you need.
I followed them, the restless, jeering lot, Down dusty, well-worn paths outside our town. Not even clamoring taunts and wails could drown The anguished cries of whip-flailed flesh now shot Clean through with nails. Him? Him whom I had sought For so long, pining for his peace? His crown Did not resemble one due him, … Continue reading Into Death Like His