Calvary's Walk

As we enter into Easter, my heart pauses to remember—to reflect on what Jesus died for, and why He endured such suffering. It’s called Good Friday because the story doesn’t end there. Sunday is coming.

But I can’t help but wonder—what would I have done? Would I have been among those who welcomed Jesus with open arms one day, only to turn on Him the next? Would I have stood by and watched, or would I have run away? Would I have turned my back, just like so many did?

I may never know the answers to those questions. But what I do know is this: I am eternally grateful for the sacrifice made on that cross.

Last year on Good Friday, I was in the prayer room when I felt God lay a poem on my heart. This is that poem:

Calvary's Walk by Kelsay Parrott

I took a walk to clear my mind,

But those words keep echoing inside—so defined.

“Crucify Him! King of the Jews!”

Like a herald shouting the daily news.

From my own lips, these cries rang out,

An innocent man was then led out.

Beaten until unrecognizable, mocked all the way—

The images are in my mind, there to stay.

I kept walking, up a hill, past a crowd of onlookers—

A man hanging on a cross, a sinner.

Yet His face glowed in a way I'd never seen before.

With one final breath, His spirit began to soar.

I continued to walk, my heart heavy and downcast,

Another hung there, his expression aghast.

His face as dark as the blood pouring out,

With one final breath, his spirit let out a shout.

Tears flood my eyes, pouring down my cheeks.

Was I to blame for these deaths so bleak?

The hill stands silent now, as darkness starts to cover.

I fall to my knees, beginning to discover—

One more cross stood hanging high.

All the blood mixing with the tears I cry.

Suddenly, the man on it says, “Daughter, you are not to blame.

Lift your head, for you have no shame.”

My King—so torn, I didn’t recognize Him,

Facing a fate so cruel, so grim.

Yet forgiveness dripped in every drop He bled,

Each one falling gently on my head.

Adonai, the One who came to save,

Who would lay for three days in the grave.

With His final breath, a promise was made:

Every debt, for all, has been paid.

So I took a walk to clear my mind,

Those words still echoing, so defined:

“Daughter, you are not to blame.

Lift your head, for you have no shame.”

(Orginal written, March 29, 2024 Good Friday. Revised edition, April 18, 2025 Good Friday)