Sorrow clouds now gather,
Days of Sin’s great gloom,
The Holy One prepares himself
for utter abandonment
His head, his whole self
pressed down and down and down
beneath the ever-darkening
He entered it, it entered into
his churning nauseated
He swallowed it for us
and felt defiled by
the appallingness of it.
He let himself be cut away from
Whom he so loved,
Who so loved him.
He became lost with those who have lost themselves,
felt the speechless anguish of being
alone, alone, alone…
No words, no mind can grasp what he has done,
what has been done to him
It gave its all to him, but didn’t win.
It never crushed him for he took it all,
its every all,
then stood again and we with him.
Praise him in silent ways, these days.
Seamus Devitt C.Ss.R. (from www.emptifulvessels.com)
(Tuesday of Holy Week.)