THE TROUBLE WITH SACRIFICE

Did I say sacrifice?

I meant to say church.

Maybe I did.

Bulls, goats, sheep, blood.

So much blood.

So much blood.

I thought it all ended on the cross?

Why then is so much blood still being spent?

I wonder,

            Did a bull fight on its way to be slaughtered?

            Did a goat ever say no?

            Did a sheep ever cry?

I do,

I have,

I’ve cried.

So much blood,

So much blood.

Is it ever really worth it?

That is the trouble with sacrifice.

Is it ever really worth it?

I wonder,

            Was a bull happy to be used in such a foolish way?

            Did a goat appreciate being ostracized?

            Were sheep ever “fulfilled” by a knife?

They must be stronger than I, yet,

There was purpose,

There still is purpose,

There always will be purpose to sacrifice.

It is after all, God’s way.

Does He like it?

He must, or else why so much blood,

So much blood.

That is the trouble with sacrifice.

There is always so much blood.

Did I say sacrifice?

I meant to say church.

Maybe I did.

A poem by Mike Bradley, 1995