four Easter meditations in a time of isolation

Good Friday: speechless

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest Friend
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.
- "O Sacred Head Now Wounded" attr. Bernard of Clairvaux, trs James W. Alexander

How can I say it?

I could summon sounds
from the four winds
from all corners of my imagination
ensnare my ideas into thoughts
my thoughts into sentences

I can cite the great authors
who write so much more eloquently
artfully than me

The bards and poets and singers
whose songs go on ringing round the globe
proclaiming praise
golden glories
from age to age
chorales of Christendom
heralding the Kingdom
honouring the King

It will never be enough

Not every word
of every song and every story
piled together 
heaped up into a mountain
of emotions made explicit
to expressively elicit
from every mouth and every pen
in all the languages of angels and of men
welded into a glittering citadel
our utmost art to tell
who You are
what You’ve done

But I stand in silence 

For beside You
oh Majesty
it is all futility

That shining fortress of acclaim
all falls down around me in confusion
it’s just another Babel
and I kneel in the rubble

Oh Jesus
my Lord and my God
have mercy on me 
a speechless sinner
for You are the only Word
I need

How can I reply to You? I’ll cover my mouth with my hand, for I’ve already said too much. 
Job 40:4 (The VOICE)

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