Let me enter your heart, O God.

Let me see what breaks your heart.

Let my heart be broken too.

Amen.

 

Luke 23:44-46

 

“It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land, until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, ‘Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.’ Having said this, he breathed his last.”

 

 

In those hours leading up to Jesus’ death there was nothing petty about what he went through. Having just been forced to look straight into the face of gut-wrenching fear, it scared him so badly that he sweated with utter anxiety, taking shallow breaths and trying for the life of him to keep it together. He’d knelt in the garden alone, talking to God and begging, please could there be another way to walk through this?

 

After all these things, then, Jesus does the most incredible, faith-filled thing: he struggles to suck in one last breath and calls out words of comfort and peace. These words were the same words prayed by the Jews every night, the last thing that left their lips before they closed their eyes, comforting and familiar words that led them to rest.

 

These are his last words, but not his final ones. After these words were spoken, there would be a span of silence. That silence will come to an end, but for now, we watch, we weep, we bear witness, we wait.

 

How will you meet this silence? What will you do with this ache?

 

 

 

by David Whyte

 

Last night they came with news of death

not knowing what I would say.

 

I wanted to say,

“The green wind is running through the fields

making the grass lie flat.”

 

I wanted to say,

“The apple blossom flakes like ash

covering the orchard wall.”

 

I wanted to say,

“The fish float belly up in the slow stream,

stepping stones to the dead.”

 

They asked if I would sleep that night,

I said I did not know.

 

For this loss I could not speak,

the tongue lay idle in a great darkness,

the heart was strangely open,

the moon had gone,

and it was then

when I said, “He is no longer here”,

that the night put its arm around me

and all the white stars turned bitter with grief.

 

 

God, may the difficult truth of this day, drive us deep to search, to yearn, to a holy hunger for your will to be done.

 

Take our hearts and minds, our desires and dreams,

May your Kingdom be what we seek first –

And may we seek it for the sake of

the hungry and lonely, the sick and the dying,

for all who are lost and forsaken among your children.

And also for myself.

 

May the seed of this day take root and grow

into deep trust, in the core of my being

that nothing in life or death

can separate me or those I love

from your love.

 

In the name and Spirit

of the one who was crucified, I pray.

Amen.