Thursday, April 2, 2015

Jesus Dies -- Station 12

photo by jimforest / flickr
"A choir of angels glorified the hour
the vault of heaven was dissolved in fire.
'Father, why hast Thou forsaken me?
Mother, I beg you, do not weep for me...'

Mary Magdalene beat her breasts and sobbed,
His dear disciple, stone-faced, stared.
His mother stood apart. No other looked
into her secret eyes. Nobody dared."
                 --Anna Akhmatova

There is only silence now.
We onlookers, led by the Priest—
   move quickly to Station Twelve.
It is so quiet you can hear the
   beating of your own heart.
For once our leader-Priest is silent.
He only points upward.
And we all look.

Even after all these years—
   something powerful tugs at our heartstrings.
Jesus is dead.
It has all come to this.
The trial…
The scourgings…
The falls…
The weeping mother and women…
The nails…
The terrible nails.

As he breathed his last, he moaned,
‘It is finished.’
And so we stand looking up.

Like the Priest we say nothing.
There is nothing to say
  when someone we love dies.
We weep—if we can.
We hug—if anyone is there.
We stumble out of the room
   and lean against the wall.

There is nothing now except
Prayers don’t work.
Words don’t help.
Forget Scripture.
And so we look up—
pondering the mystery.” 
     --Roger Lovette

“Surely he has borne our grief, and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our transgressions,
he was bruised for our iniquities:
the chastisement of our peace was upon him;
and with his stripes we are healed.”
                                                              --Isaiah 53. 3-4

                                                                      --Roger Lovette /

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