The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.
The earth groaned.
Darkness cried.
Heaven held it’s breath in holy anticipation.
A baby born, a kingdom come, a manger scene.
The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.
This man, the Word, come to life, walking dusty streets and wearing worn garments. The Word wore flesh and the Word ran with blood in His veins for thirty-three years until the blood stopped running.
You can let the Word dwell among you without ever letting it dwell in you.
Crowded streets and a crowded life and some days I wave the branches and cry “Hosannah!” and others I’m too busy, too worn down and worn out to even lift my head.
The babe came and the man walked the streets and rode the donkey and I, I can’t pause to praise thanks?
I can’t stop long enough to whisper hosannah to the unmoving, unchanging, unfailing Word made flesh?
I can’t lift my eyes from the busy to cry praise to the Word, made into flesh, come to redeem?
You can let the Word dwell among you without ever letting it dwell in you.
It’s a sing-song word, hosannah.
The tongue rolls it right off and the three syllables of the thousands turned into the three days of sacrifice for the billions and I am left hopelessly broken on a day deemed Good Friday.
This Hebrew hoshi’ ah-na, this sing-song greeting and shout of praise, it doesn’t belong here.
The Word made flesh, torn to pieces with His battered, bleeding heart.
And the thousands had just sung a song of hosannah and the Word dwelling among them heard the cries behind the praise.
This hoshi’ ah-na, it means Save! Help!
We sing praise as we cry save and even in the unknowing, our knowing soul within cries save! help! and the Word dwelling among comes to save and rescue.
The Word bled out so that love could run in.
The earth groaned.
Darkness cried.
Heaven held it’s breath in holy anticipation.
A man pieced, a body broken, a tomb stone rolled into place.
Where the singing ends the wailing begins and still one word: hoshi’ ah-na
Three syllables.
Three days.
Where is the Word to dwell when pierced through and heart broken?
You can let the Word dwell among you without ever letting it dwell in you.
We are empty as the tomb until the broken Word comes to dwell inside.
Empty and full and scared and brave and weak and strong, we all join the chorus of singing praise as we cry out save and the Word stays behind the stone for three days.
When you can barely look up to give hosannah thanks your heart cries out hosanna save; but soon the stone will roll and the Word shall dwell inside more than just a tomb and so Friday is deemed Good and we breathe out thanks in the sighing hosannah.
On Good Friday we pause to remember, to reflect, to praise in the tears and the crying, to thank Him for dying and saving, for coming to redeem. Related: More on hoshi’ ah-na
