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Yesterday,
we still heard
his voice,
agonizing as it
might have sounded.
“Father, forgive them…
Today, you will be with me…
Dear woman, your son…
My God, my God …
I am thirsty …
It is finished …
Father, into your hands…”
Still, we heard his voice.
Yesterday,
we wondered
why, oh why
is this day called
Good Friday.
In disguise,
GRACE poured out
from nail-pierced
hands and feet,
from a sword’s wound,
from thorns pressed
into flesh.
Yet, still, we heard his voice.
Today,
scattered as we are,
we wait
in deafening silence.
At best, we cry
“How long, O LORD,
will you hide yourself
forever?”
HOPE is now
carefully wrapped
in linens and
sealed in a tomb.
“How long, O LORD,
will you hide yourself
forever?”
In stillness,
earth awaits
the resurrection.
Today, there is no voice.
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