White
Linen
Twisted
olive tree steadies a writhing soul
As
red blood-drops, moisten the ground below
Sleeping
friends unknowingly abandon one
Who
is suffering beyond what mortal has done
Scourging
and thorns punish innocent flesh
Cobbled
stones carry their creator’s final step
Crucifix
sign declares, ‘King of the Jews’
Permanent
mark of nails, pierce hands and feet through
“Father,
forgive them,” is perfect love’s reply
As
the tormentors, his brothers, mock nearby
Finally,
he calls, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani”
My
God, my God, Why hast thou forsaken me?
Alone,
he submits, choosing mortal death
To
his Father in Heaven he commends his spirit
Earth
shudders and mourns for its Lord of creation
As
humanity, as foretold, their Savior they’ve forsaken
Body
lays, carefully wrapped, in a borrowed tomb
Stone
rolled, and guards the sacred Garden room
“In
three days this temple, again, I will raise”
All
who heard had not understood the prophetic phrase
White
linen found lying in the sepulcher
The
Savior’s bruised tabernacle no longer there
Women
humbly ask where his body has been taken
Angels
solemnly declare, “He is not here, for He is risen”
Having
overcome the sins of the world
Making
possible humankind’s wounds to be healed
Suffering
all things from the beginning
That
for the repentant, eternal life may be given
Having
drunk out of the most bitter cup
That
all mankind might be lifted up
Perfectly
submitting to his Father’s will
Broken
bread and clear water remind us still
By
Janice Harten
Jan.
22, 2001
Copyright © 2012 Janice Harten. All rights reserved.
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