We are in the Easter Season; however the following poem incorporates the darkness of all people every day which we bring to the cross all year long.
Safe home, caring parents,
Jesus had it easy some would say.
Three years of travel, crowds who cheered and jeered;
A fleeting moment in a life of love and comfort.
A nasty week, no doubt – no hymns of pious devotion then.
Flesh torn by whips, thorns, nails;
Betrayed, denied, who needs such friends?
Desolate, forsaken, abandoned by his Father
in his time of need.
But for how long?
Excruciating hours of anguish;
but only three.
How dark could his darkness be?
What was that darkness in which he lingered?
Whose pain, whose suffering, resounded through his frame?
Shrieks of children raped,
screams of soldiers shot,
cries of women beaten, men tortured.
The whimpers of the innocent and the damned
filled those three short hours.
Darkness covered the earth,
But deeper darkness filled our Lord.
The black whirlwind of swirling madness.
The depths of death-craving distress.
Blind, lame, plague-riddled, rotting with disease.
Sunken cheeks, jutting bones, eyes clouded with hopelessness and flies.
The sick and dying, the world’s refuse:
The essence of darkness,
the substance of pain.
A lifetime of torment
multiplied by a billion, a trillion, a quadrillion living creatures.
Countless lives, endless ages,
anguish from the dawn of time.
Overwhelming misery crashes down,
engulfs those three short hours.
Unspeakable darkness crushes the life
of that once-cherished son.
Does Jesus enter into my darkness?
Or I into his?
In the union of human with divine
two are one, forever inseparable.
Locked in swirling blackness, I remain helpless,
unable to escape the pain.
Clothed in eternal light, the Son unlocks the blackness,
freely embraces the grief that is mine.
How great the cost, extinguishing life and light.
Three short hours,
but a multitude of lifetimes compressed;
A neutron star of suffering, darkness, and death.