Saturday, April 11th | the infinite contained
Photo: creativedogmedia
And so we took him down
(Or thought we did),
Wiped off the sweat and spittle
From his face,
Washed the dried blood,
Threw out the crown of thorns,
And wrapped him once again
In swaddling clothes.
A tomb can be a cramped,
Confining place,
Far smaller than a stable.
We laid him there
(Or thought we did).
We were not able
To comprehend
The infinite contained.
For us it was the end.
Only the harsh realities
Of death and stone
Remained.
(“Dead and buried” by Elizabeth Rooney)
Lamentations 3:1-2, 5-6
1 I am the man who has seen affliction under the rod of his wrath; 2 he has driven and brought me into darkness without any light…5 he has besieged and enveloped me with bitterness and tribulation; 6 he has made me dwell in darkness like the dead of long ago.
Luke 23:48-56
48 And all the crowds that had assembled for this spectacle, when they saw what had taken place, returned home beating their breasts. 49 And all his acquaintances and the women who had followed him from Galilee stood at a distance watching these things.
50 Now there was a man named Joseph, from the Jewish town of Arimathea. He was a member of the council, a good and righteous man, 51 who had not consented to their decision and action; and he was looking for the kingdom of God. 52 This man went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. 53 Then he took it down and wrapped it in a linen shroud and laid him in a tomb cut in stone, where no one had ever yet been laid. 54 It was the day of Preparation, and the Sabbath was beginning. 55 The women who had come with him from Galilee followed and saw the tomb and how his body was laid. 56 Then they returned and prepared spices and ointments.
On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment.
The star that shined so brilliantly—amid the heavenly host and then humbly among our mortal heartstrings—is black. We slouch in the darkness, surrounded by death, lamenting that you have left us here. A crown, a shroud, a stone. Our Jerusalem returned to dust yet again; our temple besieged by waves of despair. Our minds wrestle the bleakness of our finitude. Relentless tears washed the blood from your wounds, but whose tears will wash the wounds of our hearts?
Did you not say that all would be restored? Did you not say that tears would be wiped from our eyes? Dare we look beyond the tomb where we sit when we have seemingly reaped only pain from our seeds of hope?
Oh Lord God, have mercy on us. Help our unbelief.
When in death and darkness we writhe in angst, remind us of your triumph over evil.
When mired in the sin that held you there, remind us of your redemptive work.
When we stagnate in the brutality of the cross, remind us of your glorious resurrection.
Roll away the stone from our eyes, Oh Lord, that we might see your steadfast love, that we might glimpse the Mercy of the Morning.
(Prayer written by Lara Kling)