A poem for Holy Saturday - part 2

Part Two

The Precious Blood trickles
And resting on the linen cloths
Seeps along each thread,
Caressing it,
Gently infusing its sweet aroma,
Absorbing its dryness,
Infusing its rich vermillion,
The rich red
Of fire
Of heaven
Of love.

Far above in the great hall
The frenzied hordes become insatiable
They shout and bay into the stale air
A loud, deafening babble of hoarse shrieks
That strip the air and grind the ears.
Darkness arises,
And pulses through the hordes of deathly spirits
Making them drums and blaring trumpeters,
That leaves no room for thought or detachment
Tying each one tightly into the crush of death
A herd of pigs grunting,
Snuffling as on heat,
Foxes frantic beside the cage of a frantic chicken,
Ravenous as the locusts as they fall
upon the field
Of wheat.

And at the vortex stands the emperor of the pit,
Swaying in the pulse of seething hatred,
Sucking his existence from the putridity
And believing that in the flesh of this Divine Victim
He will gain immortal power.
For if he consumes God's Son
Then God is gone,
Extinguished in a morsel of rotting flesh.

He sinks his teeth.
For a moment the sweetness seems fair and delightful,
His memory swirls and he
Remembers the fair fields of Paradise
The gentle and tender love of the Heavenly Father
That had bade him be
And graced him with majesty...
But the memory implodes
The sweetness chokes
The aroma of spices tenderly laid
By the Theotokos and the One Who Loved Much,
Seem to tighten around his throat,
He chews frantically,
Unable to resist the taste of sweet flesh crucified,
But without hope,
Simply thinking blind
That he crushes Hope
Is consuming Life
Is the Master over Life and so of Death.
Yet it is death to him
Who would know no boundaries,
Who will accept no limitations,
Who tears and destroys all that gives shape and form,
That circumscribes, defines and so setslimits.
Truth has no place, no sanctuary within his cleverness,
Just lies that beget lies that beget lies
And presume their own truth as lies
And lies as truth
Until what IS is not seen
And paradox is alien,
Certainty that cannot face the Truth
And so as imperial despot
Defines black and white and good and ill
Within the swirling certainty of hate.

So this Flesh cannot be seen for what it is in Truth,
Lies hide it from the Liar,
And so he slobbers on,
Even as his throat constricts and what existence he has
Inverses within him,
Twisting, convulsing
Not him alone but all that has become his collective.

So, suddenly, there is the great silence.
All is gone.
Just empty darkness,
Hollow, waiting.
And the Lamb.

Christ stands.
And Light Is.
Eyes closed He raises His head,
And draws breath deeply.
And the Word speaks.
"My Father!"
"It is done! Your will is DONE!"

His eyes open,
And before him lies Adam.
He bends,
The walls of the tomb dissolve,
Are as nothing,
Just there is the shrouded body
Breathing gently.
Christ reaches out,
Rests His hand upon his shoulder,
And the linen cloths seem to shrink away,
And Adam sleeps.

Christ leans over,
Not a skeleton but a body,
Touches his cheek,
Lays His hand upon his head,
Ruffles his freshly washed hair
As a mother would her infant.

"Adam! It is time!"
He stirs.
Christ stands.
"Adam, arise!"
The eyelids flicker, squint, blink, close.
"Adam, my father, I who am your Maker, command you
And then all is a stirring and the air is fresh,
The warm light of dawn seems everywhere,
Yet from nowhere,
Shadow is gone,
Shadows fade,
Light fills and tumbles and falls playfully,
Bouncing, jostling, like myriads of tiny infants that squeal with delight.
Now there is only Light
Light and yet more Light!
Light that fills and bubbles up like a mountain spring,
Light that hails and calls out in praise,
Light that warms and kneads the soul,
Light that is like warmed gold
Sizzling and roaring
With wonder.
Christ The Lord
Stands before Adam,
A pale grey man,
Languishing, lying there,
Shrivelled and thin,
Bones protruding,
But his skin as fresh as the morning dew,
Strung like cobwebs,
Sparkling in the sunlight,
In the Son's Light.

The Son stretches forth his arm in strength,
Stronger than a legion of horses,
Stretching out into the death of Adam,
A thousand leagues and a thousand more,
As time recedes and an eternal now
Filled with cherubim and seraphim
Red and gold and whirling within and beyond the heavens
Around The Lord in His Glory.

"I am the alpha and the omega...
So, dearest Adam,
I bid you rise,
Slumber no longer here among the dead.
Has not Lazarus told you?
Has not the widow of Nain's son brought you tidings?
This is not your place!
Come, let us go to the house of My Father,
For the fatted calf awaits you,
The bridesmaids lamps burn bright,
The deaf man waits to hear your voice,
And the blind man to see your fair, restored face!
Why are you languishing here?
Come, arise!
I bring you light!
The way is clear, the path straight,
The hills have been levelled,
The valleys filled,
The road is not long for I am myself your beast of burden,
Bent lowly for you as a donkey,
To carry you to the New City
As a king."

Adam looks, blinks, looks again.
His brow furrows, his mouth twitches
And he makes to speak
But there are no words,
No word which can fill that space of awe and wonder.

And with that The Lord takes him
By the hand
And in a moment
Light as a feather
He rises into the Light.
Chains fall a clanking, doors split to the tear of wood,
Stone grinds on stone,
And the smell of dew on grass sweeps away
The myrrh.

The bewildered man's first word.
Love pierces the silence,
Hope is flames catching the fringe
Of letters long composed but never written.

Christ looks into Adam's eyes
And in the moment Adam sees
The Beloved,
And from Christ's side water gushes forth
As bathes Adam's Bride
Until her beauty is unbearable,
And Adam's tears begin to fall
In torrents with the Saviour's side.
Love longing and hope desiring,
He sees The Lord of life reach down
And place a morsel of his Flesh
Upon her lips,
That she who once ate from the Tree
Could taste the fruit that another Tree had borne.
Her body shivered,
And then her flesh
Was iridescent
Translucent glory.

The Saviour whispered,
"Mother! Flesh of my flesh,
Bone of my bone,
See your Son, borne of your
Has come for you.
I bid you,
Implore you,
Your Light has come!"

And taking her gently,
Oh so gently!
The Saviour
Makes her rise!
Eve and Adam
Mother and Father,
Son and Daughter of
The New Birth
United in the arms of their
Who Himself did first call them into life
And now calls again
Calls them that they might
Always be
With Him,
In Him,
Through Him
As a chorus of joy
Woven into the heavens.

Denial of truth is always bitter.


Popular Posts