#prosper

A day begins with anxiety and fear when who knows? how it will end – because even though the last lines seem clearly written, there is still hope for something different. 

So we begin our Friday journey.

We follow him to his arrest, to his interview with Pilate, to the judgment of the people: he should die.

We follow him up the hill, a man bent under the weight of the cross on his beaten bloodied back, and thorns pushed into his head. We follow the scorn, the jeers, the cold decisions about what is best for all.  He must die.  A necessary sacrifice.

Our eyes follow as the cross is raised, our ears follow his cries, his prayers, and the sound of him giving up his spirit – the silence.

Even in the residual noise of the day, in the waning afternoon, there is the empty silence – his spirit has left this world.

We follow to the tomb where his body is laid to rest, and the stone is rolled in.  It is done.

W.H. Auden said it well.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.[1]

Who, then, could walk away from this saying, “All in all, a good day; a prosperous day”?

Only one, perhaps, who earned his pocketful of silver with a quick kiss – easy money!

…but hangs now in the potter’s field, lifeless, defeated, tragically condemned; a loss in the end.  No – not this one.

Yet the world waits, in the emptiness of this day, suspended in midair.  Static.

We leapt off the edge when we cried “crucify him!” and watched him die.  Now we hover over the dark abyss – too hard today to see the other side.

We, who know not what we do, say:  Lord, have mercy.

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[1] Stop All the Clocks (Funeral Blues)