Like a cart following the grooves dug into the hardened ground,
I know my roll. I can see my life laid out before me, but then an angel
Lifts me far from my track, drops me in a desert of ever-shifting ground.
Like sand swept up, my future becomes blurred and indistinct.
In the darkness of my confusion and fear I have hope
Hope that you are a God of love, hope that you have a plan.
And despite those ruthlessly pursuing us,
I have hope you will provide an escape.
Now the leprous are cleansed, the blind can see
And the dead breathe again.
They call my son teacher, rabbi, the Messiah
But why does he predict his death?
Did I raise him just to watch him die?
Did I teach him his first words
So he could ignite a nation
But stay silent before his accusers?
Did I watch him take his first steps
So he could stumble while he carried a cross?
Did our family sit together eating Passover year after year
So he would one day offer his blood as the lamb’s sacrifice?
But even in blackest night I will have hope.
Hope that looks to the future in anticipation.
And while my son lays dead, my hope
Is that this is just the caesura in your plan.
That moment when the choir jolts to a stop in unified silence
When you can hear the static nothing of blood pulsing through your ears
And while a few accept the end and begin to clap, I hold still
Because I know this cannot possibly be the conclusion.
And then I see the chests rise in breath and mouths begin to open.
In that moment I know the silence is about to be obliterated in music
Because your best is still yet to come and as every knee begins to bow
The world will reverberate with your unconditional, sacrificial love.