Yes, He knew grief—knew him like an old enemy.

From the first betrayal—all His care and attention

pitched for a bite of fruit—through the latest—

a kiss on the cheek, an 11-man flight,  a swear word 

on the lips of his side-kick—His heart bled.

He knew the whiplash of loss; He had stared into

the blackness of death at the tomb of a friend,

the anguished words of bereaved sisters 

throbbing through His mind, the reality of separation 

stabbing at His lungs: How he had wept!

And now, his arms nailed open to welcome 

deserters back to God, 

He watched His mother watch Him suffer, 

felt with every heartbeat, 

the pounding of the Father’s displeasure

at all the sins He never committed, 

and entered death’s coldest depths.

Yes, He knew grief—knew it like the old enemy

that He endured for love.