Holy Week Among the Living and the Dead

He rode an ass down the dirty dusty road into a city that had lost hope
He sat astride the animal filled with a terrible prophetic purpose
the people stopped and stared at his passing, the palm fronds waiting
the streets were before him, the buildings all around
this is the Holy City, this is the sacred ground

He still walks through these days with us- the living and the dead.
our prayers are but small things that come and go easily
our wishes our wills are without us, some muttered, some unsaid
the nights are long and cold and silent, we tremble in our beds
this is the Holy City in our books, in our minds, it is what we have read.

His words echo in the alleys and squares, of forgiveness and of love
our actions speak more for our lack of understandings
than our successes speak out for the miracles of compassion
walk with us and be our savior today, this week forever
take us home to the neighborhoods below or the heavens above

He was marched through our pathways in silence, in our shame
a sacrifice was demanded, a price had to be paid
for we would not see the man of sorrows, tears blinded
those who swore to follow, fears reminded us of our unbelief
were we his only in name, would we take salvation as a thief?

The reminder of his coming arrives but once a year
a time to remember a collective memory in word and deed
Will you stop to listen again to what is spoken what was said?
are you like those before you lost and alone, in need
will you walk with Him among the Living and the Dead.