Christ Forlorn

It was Your choice
to drink that bitter cup,
to hold it to Your bruised mouth
and receive its heavy darkness
though You had every reason not to—
Your unstained glory,
Your infinite goodness,
Your authority to bid
the host of heaven
come lift You on their mighty wings.

What could possibly prompt
such a sacrifice,
such an abasement born of grace?
Even those dearest to You
traded love and faithfulness
for the satiety of sleep,
fully heedless
of Your deep night’s agony.

And still You chose.

Your arms spread wide
though there was no embrace,
only the slow tearing of flesh
and the awful gasping for breath
and the lonely desolation
of a suffering no one else
could ever know—
not even the One
who had forsaken You.