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| photo by jimforest / flickr |
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
emptiness.
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 / rogerlovette.blogspot.com
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