Realising Easter

There is something in this nothing,
this sorrowful gasp,
this fast of disbelief.
For the wave of excitement
never expects the desert or death.

Loss amnesia extracted
memories of hope,
hopeless insomnia
gouged through rest
with nihilist emptiness,
yet purpose is enduring
and truth is still breathing,
despite every miss-belief
and projections of human limitations.

The truth of the pain is this;
there is more than a consolation
in this death.
There were whispers of victory
in the wind;
but the noise of mourning
drowned out its tender premonitions.

There is something in this nothing,
something more than consolation in this loss,
this sorrowful gasp.
How is one supposed to breath
in this space between death and life?
this Sheol on earth?
this furrowed brow of question-mark day
between redemption and vindication?
How is one supposed to breath,
eat or sleep in this vacuous void?

What emptiness there was
without expectation,
because no matter what prophecy
something this new
could never be anticipated in finite minds.

For what covenant could last forever?
what giving could fulfil every sacrifice?
what life is made in blood?
what one lamb could protect
all from death forever?
what goat could carry all the hand prints of sin
into the abyss?
what physical temple could
contain the fullness of divine?
what servant could pour out healing
from open wounds to a thousand generations?
what man could represent all and mediate,
submerged in filth, yet remain holy?
what enduring life could defeat death?

Only fully God, and fully man,
could give this life
and share it,
and let us breath again.

Only he could feed us
what does not frivol away,

only he could give us peace
from restlessness,

only with him
could we become complete.

Written 07/04/12.


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