Where is my God?
How can it be that my Lord is dead? I thought this cruel execution would be stopped. I prayed for it to be stopped. Yet my Lord is dead.
My God, have you forsaken me?
I am desolate with grief.
The people on the streets say, "Where is your Lord now?" and I run.
I run like a dog who has lost its master, loping this way then that, pawing the ground, panting with thirst.
I stop in a grove of olives. I rend my shirt. I claw at my chest until I see drops of bright, red blood fall to the ground. Yet there is no atonement for what we have done.
My God, my God, have you left us? We have broken the covenant You made with us. Have you abandoned us?
The sunlight is dull and wan and there are no stars.
I cannot sleep. Oh God, grant me death, too. My face is stiff with shed tears that bring no comfort and still I cannot sleep.
I stumble back into the city, avoiding the soldiers and the mockers, and ask where they have taken my Lord. I find the tomb. I sit and lean against the stone wall.
Was it only two nights ago that we broke bread? You washed my feet. I look at them now and they are filthy and bloody.
My God, where have you gone?
I will wait here for whatever is to come. I lean against the cold stone, and at last I sleep.