Wounds in the House of Love

Wounds in the House of Love

Not all violence comes with swords.

Some arrives with silence.

With a kiss.

With a deal struck in the dark.

He stands—

his lips close to holy skin,

his breath the poison of betrayal.

No shout. No scream.

Only the hush of treachery,

and the clink of thirty coins.

He had walked with Him.

He had seen the healing touch,

the bread broken and multiplied,

the demons cast out,

the hearts made whole.

And now—this?

The price of a soul,

measured in metal,

cold and shining.

And don’t we all carry Judas within?

The line between good and evil

runs through every heart—

a shadow waiting,

quiet and coiled,

for the right moment

to whisper,

to wound,

to betray.

My friends, guard your hearts—

do not chase the coin or crown

that wounds the face of Christ.

He was despised and rejected—

not by crowds alone,

but by a friend,

whose breath still warmed His cheek.

Wounded in the house of those He loved,

pierced without a blade,

cut by a kiss.

My friends, guard your hearts—

do not chase the coin or crown

that wounds the face of Christ.

And still, His wounds echo—

in the hidden places of the Church,

where those anointed to tend the flock

turn and harm the sheep.

Not all who wear the robe betray,

but some do.

And when they do,

the Shepherd bleeds again.

Words meant to bless become chains,

hands meant to heal become weapons.

The oil of calling

spilled on the floor

as innocence is bartered

for power and control.

A smile,

a robe,

a holy name—

used like silver

to seal a kiss of betrayal.

This too is a garden at night.

This too is sacred space defiled.

And still,

the God-Man walks—

toward the lash,

the spit,

the curse,

the cross.

The weight of love

laid heavy on His shoulders,

the sorrow of sin

pressed into flesh.

The axe will fall.

The kiss of death

will bruise the One who is Life.

And yet—

my friends—

perhaps violence

will not have the final word.

For love itself

may yet

speak in the hope of

Sunday dawn.

- Jon Swales, 2025

Artwork: ‘Kiss of Judas’, John August Swanson