Written last year as we catapulted into the fullness of the pandemic and Holy Week.
To the tune of KINGSFOLD (To Mock Your Reign)
–
–
“My God,” shouts out the suff’ring Lord,
“Why have you forsaken me?”
Our king and the Incarnate Word
Has pow’r for just one plea.
His body bears an anguished pain
Beyond the heavy cross.
No human language can contain
This emptiness of loss.
–
“My God,” yells out the hungry child,
“Why are you so far from me?”
Their body, dirty and reviled,
Is home to Deity:
The lonely Christ is present there
And joins the tearful cry
That dares to give voice to despair
And hungers for reply.
–
“My God,” cries out the broken Earth,
“Can you not hear my groan?”
This planet to which God gave birth
Now reaps what we have sown.
The Lord of Life with flesh of clay
Is there in every death,
In each extinction, every way
Creation gasps for breath.
–
“Where are you, God?” the desperate pray
As they reach out for a word.
Both midnight and the brightest day,
They question who has heard.
The lonely, sick, abused, and poor –
Christ joins them from the cross
And echoes from his wounded core
The fullness of their loss.
cassidhe hart 