Maundy Thursday, for our sense of betrayal

God, we feel part of the betrayal —
Judas-kiss, Pilate-dripping hands,
snoozy disciples, Barabbas home-free pass,
dice-playing guards —

because all of us who are not sick
are wondering whether
we are asymptomatic or carriers —

and checked the price
on that bag of onions just before
the person bought it
who is immune-compromised,
petted the dog
before the vet-tech hand-off,
sneezed (of course it’s allergies)
toward the neighbors,
cheated on six feet distance
thirteen days ago
when it seemed unimportant —

and so we get it —
not as some toxic theology
of substitutionary atonement,

but this way —
forgive us for we know not what we do.

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