Holy Week

Preparing our hearts for Easter

I will be taking a brief break from my series on Time with Jesus this week (to resume after Easter) to post poems and meditations related to the betrayal, death, burial, and resurrection of Christ. Today’s is a cycle of poems that I have reformatted here as one long poem that overviews the week.

Among the Dead:
A Meditation for Holy Week

I have been the betrayer seated at the table–
Supping with Christ while plotting the terrible.
I have denied him so many more times than three.
I have locked my fear in the upper room with me. 
I have lost hope in the promises misunderstood
And used my grief as a reason not to do good. 
I have ignored what faithful women are saying–
Woe to me, the betrayer. When I am done betraying? 

I saw a brave man crying loudly in the street
And I wept bitterly today, lost and without peace.
The highways are all empty, covered up with dust–
No travelers on the roads, cars wasted into rust.
The treaty once we had has come to naught–
None, not even witnesses, are respected as they ought.
The land for crops is dry as the tearless dirt grieves.
The trees that once stood tall wither without leaves.

The blood money, once taken, cannot be returned
And the bloodshed given was not a bloodshed earned.
Upon the Cross, a thief cried out and was saved
But now this Jesus I betrayed is dead and graved.
The light has gone out of this world altogether
And the bread and wine have lost their taste forever.
What hope is left? What peace can I ever find?
Will I, like Judas, turn away and lose my mind?

Yet even here in the disciple’s lonely upper room
The faithful weep and mourn and strip it like a tomb–
Please don’t remove the wine, nor the cup we shared,
Nor the bread he broke knowing he would not be spared.
Don’t discard the vestments or snuff the candlelight–
Will you leave nothing–no hope to cling to in the night?
When all the finery is stripped and in darkness lost
I find the only hope that’s left–the burden of the Cross.

But unlike Judas in despair, on it I fix my eyes–
No rope can free me from tears nor comfort in my cries.
In all the darkness of the room I hear the thunderstorm.
The Way, the Truth, the Light, the Door through curtain torn.
But atonement is not enough, I fear, corrupted as I am–
Though all my sins be carried on this sacrificial lamb.
Forgiven I may be and yet my fear is unabated
For dust is still my future lest humankind is recreated.
 
So anxiously in the darkness of the upper room I wait–
At the tombly, barren altar in darkness weeping I wait–

I replay in my mind every moment of my loss,
Each step, each stumble, on the pathway to the Cross.
With each stinging lash remembered, each piercing thorn,
I’m reminded of my sin–the burden being borne.
How great a love is this that for me, the love-betrayer,
He would unjustly suffer deathly shame to be my Savior?
Perhaps if even the crucifying soldier saw his power
There is still a reason to hope, to live the coming hour.

O God, my God, if you will only remake me anew
I swear my mind, my soul, my strength belong to you!
This Jesus whom we crucified, who I dared betray,
If he lives he will be my only hope, my only stay.
No other allegiance will ever pluck me from his hand–
No silver coin, no other love, no oath to king or land.
If only he comes back, he can speak this new creation
And create through uncorruption my complete salvation.

A light is breaking like a bonfire over the distant east–
And bells are ringing somewhere as if calling to a feast.
I have ignored their witness time and time before
But this time I hear women singing the resurrection of the Lord.
The light shone in the darkness but I could not comprehend–
O God, my God, do not let it pass me by again.
“Alleluia,” they are singing, “Christ is risen,” they are singing!
In joyful chorus voices praise him and all the bells are ringing!

Christ yesterday, Christ today, our Christ forevermore, He
Will be our King, our Lord, our only hope, our eternal glory.
In his resurrection he has made us a new creation
And joined us in his holy priesthood, in his holy nation,
And has brought us betrayers and enemies together,
To reform lost communion with the Triune God forever.
The tears cannot stop flowing from my brokenhearted wonder
At this Jesus who rebuilt the temple our betrayal tore asunder. 

Yet still I hear the call to look for Life among the dead,
“God is dead and we have killed him,” or so our poets said. 
Cast your vote, speak your truth, signal all your virtue!
You have the power–except to heal what really hurts you.
“Alleluia! Christ our Passover has been sacrificed for us;”
Let our lips resound the words–in this love alone we trust–
May tears of joy stream down, heart beat faster in the breast,
As we cry out in faithful witness, “therefore let us keep the feast!”

But as we go back into the boneyard valley of death,
Let us always proclaim with each God-given breath:
We cannot stop speaking of the things we’ve heard and seen–
Of the basin and the towel as he washed his servants clean
And made beautiful their feet to spread the news abroad–
That the outcast and the broken are near the heart of God.
Fear not the one who kills the body, but trusting in the Son,
Pray for strength to do his will and in us his kingdom come.