This was inspired by events divinely directed during Holy Week.
You ride into Zion on an ass’s colt
sweating, flicking flies, nearing
the Eastern Gate. Crowds fan palms,
wave, uplift arms, cheer, and chant hosanna.
Do you hear Lift up your heads,
you gates; be lifted up, you ancient doors,
that the King of glory may come in (Ps. 24:7)
as you enter the Holy City? Leering from its
upper stone walls, do you know Roman solders
guffawing, bowing, toasting cheap wine,
will carry torches in darkest night
four days hence?
As you return on pilgrim-packed roads
and behold the City of David,
your tears torrent and puddle
at your sandaled feet. You cry
How often I have longed to
gather your children together…. (Mt. 23:37)
Do your disciples weep too?
Do they grasp the fruitless fig tree,
and your curse on those who bare no fruit
…like a branch that is thrown away and withers…? (John 15:6)
You enter the City of Truth. They see
the fig tree withered, overnight.
Shadows stretch as sun peaks at noon.
You forecast …the sun will be darkened… (Mt. 24:7)
Light veils sight and unveils blindness.
The purse-skimmer sews his purse
with silver lining.
The unbound man and his sisters cloister you.
Minutes are hours. No blood is smeared
on doorframe sides and beam.
You know they know.
The King of Glory stoops, washes calloused feet,
wipes them dry. Mute, they dry tears.
Body breaks—blood pours—
pass over death into life.
The Garden. You lie prone on matted grass,
arms outstretched. Foreshadowing the morrow.
Blood droplets bead on your forehead.
They doze. Spirit will, flesh won’t.
You rise. Spirit will, fresh obeys.
Torches flitting, like fireflies, advancing.
Hour of darkness avalanches.
What is truth? (Luke 18:38) as Truth stood before
his smirking eyes. He brays ECCE HOMO! (Luke 19:5)
The Lamb is sheared. His hide marked.
For three hours, a dry storm front darkens the sun.
Countless unblemished Passover lambs are slain in the temple.
The unblemished Passover Lamb is slain near the Skull.
The cross is the narrow gate.
Soldiers seal and guard the tomb.
Long night ahead. Get the dice.
You are not there.
Heart beating, wounds sealing,
you gasp, blink, sit, and
smile at sunlight shafting
through the hewn passage.