I leave him in Your hands, O God,
You who are both merciful and just.
Numb with the horror of this deed,
Its hideous stench, one surely must
know how to pray.
Yet I am still
sickened to silence.
What can one say?
Was he Your son?
If so
then You will know
what must be done.
For he will be in black despair
lest he has sinned
beyond all mercy—
all repair.
What he has done,
is done. No prayer—
no penance—nothing—
can undo the loathsome deed,
yet he
is Yours.
And I would plead,
Lord, let him see
long and stark and clear
Your Calvary.

Taken by permission and adapted from “Prodigals and Those Who Love Them,” By Ruth Bell Graham. ©1991, 1999, The Ruth Bell Graham Literary Trust.