Catch up on Holy Week with me, or just see if any of the images that came to me so far each morning also are coming to you.
Holy Week Sonnet Number 7 – Holy Saturday
April 3, 2021
Today I read part of the Gospel of Nicodemus, also called the Acts of Pilate. Chapters 12 through 21 are a weird account of “the harrowing of hell” when, some say, Christ descended into hell between his death and resurrection to free those who had died before then. I’m not sure what to think, but in my sonnet I highlighted the redemptive hope that would be part of such a monumental Exodus if it were necessary. The New Testament only has slight allusions to Christ’s descent into hell (or, more likely, Hades, which is simply the realm of the dead), so it’s hard to make heads or tales of it. Many early Church leaders believed it, so, that’s saying something. All that being said, here’s a poem that takes the story at its word (which I do not exactly)
Some say Pilate soon repented when
He saw what he had done. Centurion
Reports were strange, undoing him, and then
He set himself to searching, hurrying
To know the Truth, and not just what it is.
He learned stranger tales -‘ sages in hell
Who met the Truth come claiming what was his —
And sons of dead men who were dead themselves
Recounted Satan’s failing Hope that Christ
Could never come to hell — alive as light
To burgle darkness — brilliance come to heist —
He walked right in, not needing any fight,
Took Adam by the hand, and all then came
Behind, and hoped that Pilate do the same.
Holy Week Sonnet Number 6 – Good Friday
April 2, 2021
Not many anymore have had to lift
A body. This sacred duty resides
In institutions staffed by those on shift.
When loved ones die, we call, and stand aside,
And others feel their weight. We have our own,
In head and heart, the pain is very hard.
We feel, but rarely in our limbs and bones;
And so our death may stay abstract and far
Away from facts like pounds and cubic feet.
I’d guess Christ weighed one hundred fifty pounds
At least when Joseph got him off that tree,
By setting ladder from the cross to ground,
Could he, up there, receive on shoulder’s heft
The burden of that body life had left?
Holy Week Sonnet Number 5 – Maundy Thursday
April 1, 2021
“I have desired this moment eagerly,
And here, at last, we are together, friends.
Sit at my table now to eat with me;
It is the last of our beginning’s end,
Until it’s finished I will not partake
Of food, or drink, or any comfort’s kind.
My ends lie far beyond what fills or slakes;
My purpose for this body, heart and mind
Lies on the other side of human being.
I, too, shall be an empty cup and plate,
And yet, my poured-out, famished, vanished seeing
Will nurture newness from your soles to pates.
I’ll fill you far above your love cup’s brim,
And much more than five thousand up again.”
Holy Week Sonnet Number 4 – Wednesday
March 31, 2021
Matthew 26:6-13 and Luke 7:36-50
“In memory of her,” the Lord declared,
That all will call to mind her act of love,
Whenever his own life and love are shared.
The best disciple’s name’s not spoken of
How strange! I want so much to know her name —
To right the wrongs against all womankind,
And honor she who honored through the shame
Uncorked upon her broken beauty’s glass
With jeers and judgment made from keeping-score.
Aware of this, he took those men to task.
She knew that death was knocking at their door
Because she listened unlike those to whom
He had revealed the most his path through doom.
Holy Week Sonnet Number 3
I learned today that the oboe is the instrument to which the whole orchestra tunes.
March 30, 2021
Lord, all the things you warned us all about
Have now begun to sound in string and throat,
Discordant tuning strengthens towards a shout,
Of oboe-started-harmonizing notes.
The band is struck and so are all of us,
The world is over, as we knew it was,
All rumors, famines, earthquakes, lawlessness —
They catch us in a culminating buzz.
Again, again, you tell us not to fear,
And ever always we are terrified,
The music far too awful not to hear
Pleads us trust in only what we’ve eyed.
“But this is but the warm-up, my dear friends,”
You say, “I will be with you through the end.”
Holy Week Sonnet Number 2 – Monday
March 29, 2021
If all this weren’t so deadly serious,
We might hear all he said and have a laugh.
Because there’s almost nothing clear to us,
We’ll rush to easy insults as a raft.
They’re wrong, he’s right, so, as big winners, we
Ride on down river with our muscles slack —
Our ease resting nicely in enmity,
We gleefully watch him splash back attacks,
And float through temple talks, taking his quips
To Sadducee, Scribe, Pharisee alike
For borrowed buoyancy to leaky ships
That now careen toward the stone soon to strike —
The stone we boat builders gladly reject
Built wreckage as the vessel for us to connect.
Holy Week Sonnet Number 1 – Palm Sunday
March 28, 2021
You’ll do everything short of making us,
But, no, you won’t sort broken hearts by force;
Refusing to coerce, forsaking thus
The automatic lovers you could source,
You choose dramatic tragedy to show
Us who you are and whom you know —
It’s us, it’s me, and all our half-bent knees.
Before time till now, you’ve seen everything,
And so you know how most could know you now:
You would have us see you in your suffering —
A bleeding love from hands, feet, side and brow.
And as you die we ask if we must too,
“Do as I say, and also as I do.”