Weeping Silence

Nature itself has been formed into a specific shape
to speak a certain word, and we are impoverished
if we pay it no heed.

Spread wide the palms of your hands, and bare your side to receive His love, that incomprehensible gift of agony which is love and without no man can draw a breath. Walk on those feet cruelly fastened to the tree, look through your blood clogged eyes on the savior of the human race.

How few they are who do, or even dare the think they could bear, such incomprehendible weight on their own frailty.

He drives in each nail on His victim loves, and cries out the lamentation that cannot be spoken because it hurts too much. He waits for His turn to say "It is is finished" without voice, without sound, without encompassing all He did in His short life.

Now, when He arranges for my frail limbs to be raised up to greet His deeds, the world still does not see what He is doing, but every deed requested by those lovers of His love are granted in spite of it all. It is a short span of time, the nailing of the innocent man to the abominable cross. His final act is to cease, to stop, to let out the last breath and not take another. His lovers mimic Him the best they can, and the world goes by in silence because there is nothing else to be done.

All His deeds will be revealed, and all our love unveiled in the midst of the unbelieving. 

They could not even disbelieve if it were not granted from above. Their haughty, arrogant snarls give way to the wave of love that will transfigure the whole earth, and reveal everything.

With my hands spread fixed to the cross I cannot reveal what He has done; I only stand still in the silence and the nothingness of the wilderness. Surely He will come soon to reveal His love to me so that I may be finished, completed His love having succeeded even with me. You cannot see, but He will reveal, and the pain will cease in the glory of His light.