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Rest in peace, O King.
The cup is empty now.
Desert has its rain.
Rest in flowers, gentle Lord.
The weight we loaded you have borne now.
Golden love enlight your dying.
Holy, humble, holy Lord.
Holy God, holy mighty.
Rest in singing, peaceful King.
Your people are enfolded in your song.
Repose now, in peace. It was a long road to Jerusalem. The Samaritan towns would not let you enter, a Jew with his sermons about love. And you climbed up to The City, which sits on a hill. Rest.
The Gospel of John, which we hear today, assures us that Jesus knew all that was to come, that he chose it with full knowledge. But we are told in Chapter 13:2 that, even before the Last Supper began, the devil had already induced Judas to hand him over.
And it was a long road in another sense. Betrayal, humiliation—hours of it—until at last he drank the chalice to the bottom. At Friday’s service we see and feel his losses most keenly. And then he is gone. Dead.
Holy Saturday used to be entirely and strangely still (before the Easter Vigil was reinstated). We knew that there would be no Saturday Mass and were quietly shocked. How much we depend on the living presence of Jesus in our midst.
Hágios O Theos,
Hágios Ischyros,
Hágios Athánitos eleison hymas.
Holy God,
Holy Mighty,
Holy everlasting,
Have mercy on us.
Fr. John Foley, S. J.
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Poem from The Book of Glory, by John Foley, S. J.,
Copyright © 1981
Hágios O Theos. . . is from the Improperia, or “Reproaches” at the ceremony of the Adoration of the Cross, of Good Friday.
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