Twofer: Holy Week Begins

Number Two: Holy Week Begins

The last week that he walked the earth
as the man they knew and loved,
not yet resurrected Lord,
were there things he tried to do just
one more time? Stop at favorite
pita shop or taste of hometown wine,
jokes around the campfire, the ache
of tired feet from walking down
a dusty road? Heaven's air, he would
have known, was clearer, sweeter
than this mix of smoke and sweat and
all the other smells that humans generate,
but he'd enjoyed this thirty-three year
visit to the crown of his creation. They'd
done well, he and the other two, with
this green and blue ball of enthusiastic,
hedonistic, wayward, simple lot who'd lost
the path so long ago. This week would
bring it back. Pain would be worth it,
but still...this thin-skinned body over bones
had not yet tasted the sensation. He sighed
and thought about the morning, pushing
visions, whips and thorns and stakes aside.
The crowds were joyful as he rode
in on the donkey; although he knew
that they were reading from
a script they'd never seen, the words
were nice to hear.They cheered for what
they thought would be a powerful reminder
to the Romans of their own impending doom.
Nightfall as he looked out on the rooftops,
as his people slept, the very ones who
waved the branches hours before
would shake their fists in just a few short
days. He'd told his friends, but how
could they really grasp what would
unfold? He'd like to see the sisters
one more time, he thought, watch
the way the firelight danced in their
eyes. They loved him, not just for Lazarus,
but for himself. It saddened him
to think of the tears they'd shed
beneath the cross, not understanding
that it had to be. That he'd be back.
That this is what the great plan required
for them to have eternity to laugh
and walk in clearer atmosphere
together. Momentary anguish,
excruciating pain, the separation
he couldn't bring himself to even think
about. All necessary, and the plan
would work anyone who'd bow and
sacrifice? He chuckled in the darkness
by himself. They'd outdone themselves
with simple terms...no bows for this
divinity, no more bloody gifts on altars.
Just believe.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013