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| photo by prof. Bizzarro / flickr |
why have you forsaken me?"
Then Jesus uttering a loud
cry,
breathed his last.
--Mark 15. 34, 37
Finally, finally it was over.
All of it.
The lashes, the spittle, the
pain.
The betrayals
and the darkness at noon.
The soldiers had left. Their job
was finished.
Most of the crowd, who always
liked a show--had gone home.
Only Mary and John were left.
And they must have heard his terrible
question--why, God, why?
And they looked away but they heard
the last breath.
It was as quiet as quiet can be.
Nothing stirred. Not even the wind.
And the birds that chattered and sang.
Even they were quiet.
And when death comes,
as it will come to us all
What will we say?
Not much.
We reach out and hold someone
close and tight--
as Mary and John must have done.
They stumbled away as we all do when
someone we love dies.
They found the others--hiding and
scared for their lives.
And they, too grabbed one another.
Holding on tight.
It is finished, he had whispered.
And it was the end--
at least they thought.
Along the road days later
they said to one another:
"Oh, we had hoped he was the one
who would redeem Israel."
Just like we hoped there
would be more time.
Time to say what we had not said.
Time to do what had not done.
Time to know that he/she was the
most precious thing we had.
And so, like them, we just slip away.
And stare. And wonder.
And may cry too.
It is not the end. But something
was finished that terrible day.
It would take years and years
to reckon with what they had lost and
what they had found.
Us too. We are still reckoning.
--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com
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