Crucified Jesus - Written on Good Friday 1920

Kahlil Gibran. The Tempests

Today, on this day of every year, humanity wakes up from its deep slumber and stands before the ghosts of generations, looking with eyes covered with tears towards Mount Calvary to see Jesus of Nazareth hanging on the cross.

And when the sun sets at the end of the day, humanity returns and kneels in prayer before the idols erected on the top of every hill and at the foot of every mountain.

Today the memory leads the souls of Christians from all corners of the world to the neighborhood of Jerusalem, where they stand in rows, beating their chests, staring at a thorny ghost, stretching out its arms against infinity, looking through the veil of death into the depths of life... But the curtains of night do not fall on the theaters of this day until the Christians return and lie in groups in the shadows of oblivion, among the blankets of ignorance and idleness.

On this day every year, philosophers leave their dark caves, thinkers leave their cold silos, poets their imaginary valleys... They all stand on a high mountain, silent and dreadful, listening to the voice of a young man saying to his killers: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” But the sounds of light are not surrounded by silence until the philosophers,

thinkers and poets return and shroud their souls with the pages of worn out books.

Women who are busy with the joy of life, and who are passionate about jewelry and robes, go out today from their homes to witness the sad woman standing in front of the cross, the standing of a soft tree in front of winter storms, they approach her to hear her deep moaning and painful groans.

As for the boys and girls who run with the stream of days to where they do not know, they stand today for a while, and turn back to see the Magdalene girl washing with her tears the drops of blood from the feet of a man standing between earth and sky... But when their eyes get tired looking at this scene they turn quickly laughing.

On this day every year... Humanity wakes up with the awakening of spring, and stands crying for the pain of the Nazarene, then closes its eyelids and falls into a deep sleep... As for the spring, it stays awake smiling, walking until it becomes a summer of golden clothes with perfumed tails.

Humanity is a woman whose weeping and wailing over the heroes of generations is delightful... If humanity were a man, It would rejoice in their glory and greatness.

Humanity is a child who stands groaning beside the sacrificial bird...but it is afraid to stand in front of the great storm that smashes the dry branches and sweeps away the stinking filth.

Humanity sees Jesus of Nazareth, born and living like the poor, humiliated like the weak and crucified like criminals... So it weeps and laments him, and that's all it does to honor him.

Nineteen generations ago, people have worshiped weakness in the person of Jesus, and Jesus was strong, but they do not understand the true meaning of strength.

Jesus did not live poor and afraid, and did not die complaining and in pain... Rather, he lived in rebellion, was crucified in rebellion, and died a mighty...

Jesus was not a bird with broken wings... Rather, he was a violent storm that broke all crooked wings... Jesus did not come from behind the blue twilight to make pain a symbol of life... He came to make life a symbol of truth and freedom...

Jesus did not fear his persecutors, did not fear his enemies, did not grieve in front of his killers... Rather, he was free to witness, daring in the face of injustice and tyranny; He sees unpleasant pimples and picks them up, hears evil speaking and silences it, and meets hypocrisy and crushes it.

Jesus did not descend from the circle of the highest light to demolish houses and build monasteries and hermitages from their stones, and tempt strong men to make of them priests and monks... Rather, he came to spread in the space of this world a new and strong spirit; Thrones erected upon skulls are smashed, lofty palaces

over tombs are smashed, idols set up on the bodies of the weak and needy are crushed.

Jesus did not come to teach people to build high-rise churches and huge temples in the vicinity of vile huts and cold, dark houses... Rather, he came to make the human heart a temple, his soul an altar, and his mind a priest.

This is what Jesus of Nazareth did, and these are the principles for which he was voluntarily crucified... only If men reasoned they would have stood today rejoicing and singing the chants of victory.

And you, the mighty crucified, who looks from the heights of Golgotha to the processions of generations, hears the noise of nations, and understands the dreams of eternity. From a thousand commanders in a thousand armies to a thousand battles.

With your sadness you are more joyful than spring with its flowers... You are calmer in your pain than the angels in their sky...And you among the executioners are freer than the light of the sun...

The wreath of thorns on your head is more beautiful than the crown of Bahram... The nail in your palm is higher and more luxurious than the scepter of Jupiter... And the drops of blood on your feet are brighter than the necklaces of Astarte...

Forgive those weak people who mourn over you because they do not know how to mourn for their souls, and forgive them because they do not know that you have defeated death with death and given life to those in the graves.