Deus Absconditus
God Absconded – Holy Saturday
The morning of that blood flow day
As Christ was dragged across the way,
Beaten, scourged, purple mockery,
Crown of thorns, tempting apothecary,
Force walk through city streets,
Hear the screams and shouts, marching feet,
Weight of cross, solid wood, a tree,
Chafing shoulders, breaking, bleeding free,
And there, upon Golgotha Hill.
The soldiers ready for the kill;
Arms outstretched, nails hammered in,
Christ shudders as the iron rips flesh and skin,
Shouts of command as the cross is hoisted
Fall into place, a jolt, crowds rejoicing,
Two thieves on either side, try to hide their pain,
Bravery, scornful, yet one is remorseful,
Promised that he will see glory, victory gain,
Thunder rumbles, day turns night,
Soldiers fear, people fright, failing light,
‘It is finished,’ Christ called out, then died;
Roman soldier rams spear into his side,
Blood and water flows, sound of sighs,
Tears flow, mingled with the rain,
Friends turn and leave, too much pain;
Joseph, from Arimathea, sought permission,
Took the body down, with help, completes his mission,
Laying Christ’s lifeless body in borrowed grave,
Wrapped in linen, stone rolled across, saved
Another day they’ll come and embalm,
Sabbath on the morrow, go home, stay calm;
And in the Upper Room, disciples gathered,
Fearful of every footfall outside, fainthearted,
Sabbath lost, where is God? Where do we go?
And silence reared its disturbing head to flow
Among the sweep of falling tears and broken dreams,
God has absconded, left us alone, we are not a team,
Where have we been, these years passed
Did we fall for a trick, misled by a devil?
But he said he was Messiah; how can that be evil?
Why has God absconded from us?
And on this Holy Saturday, Christ lay in the grave,
Every disciple sat around the room, cold as a cave,
If they could see into the heavens,
Angels pleading to be unrestrained,
God the Father silently weeping,
Tears staining heavens glory,
As Father says, wait, the time is yet to come;
Still waiting in that Upper Room, disciples pray;
And day turns to night, as sleep again evades,
Outside the tomb, secured and sealed,
Guarded by the Temple Guard, revealed,
The earth tremors, the tomb shakes,
Guards fear, then shrug and sleep;
Through the early hours of this third day,
Something stirs, but it is no play;
And in the temple, they try and fix the curtain,
While even they believe God’s absconded;
And if the Father is not here to assist,
Then how are we going to pray, persist,
Or carry on with life, this is pure strife.
But God said wait! Friday has gone,
Sunday is yet to come!
(C)Steve Gregory 2025
Copyright ©
Stephen Gregory
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