Unreported moments from First Century Jerusalem (8)
Bleak Sabbath
Empty as an inverted pitcher,
every hope, every bright hour,
every wonderment at a miracle
quashed by three vicious nails and an alien spear
thrust deep into the side of my most precious love.
Friends? I know not where they are.
Hiding like me?
Full of fear?
Fled from the city
for the safety of home
and work they understand?
Oh where, oh where might they be?
I weep as I have never wept before – for the death of him
who filled us with hope and joy;
at the remembrance of horror
I thought I would never have to bear;
at the thought of his once beautiful body
lifeless in a stone-cold tomb.
And with gut-wrenching anxiety
for my own pitiable life.
There is nothing to live for,
I am utterly undone.
Let the mountains fall on me.
I feel I cannot bear another day.
Yet I will cry out to the Father
to whom he taught us to pray ...
Hiding like me?
Full of fear?
Fled from the city
for the safety of home
and work they understand?
Oh where, oh where might they be?
I weep as I have never wept before – for the death of him
who filled us with hope and joy;
at the remembrance of horror
I thought I would never have to bear;
at the thought of his once beautiful body
lifeless in a stone-cold tomb.
And with gut-wrenching anxiety
for my own pitiable life.
There is nothing to live for,
I am utterly undone.
Let the mountains fall on me.
I feel I cannot bear another day.
Yet I will cry out to the Father
to whom he taught us to pray ...
This audio file is stored in a Dropbox account and if you follow the link, you may be invited to sign in or create an account in Dropbox. If that happens, it should be possible to use the exit button (top right) and be let in to listen to the reading without signing in.
This is part of a Lent and Easter collection which includes a Palm Sunday re-imagination, and other ‘unreported moments from fist century Judea. These can be accessed HERE
