He’ll wait all night if he has to,
While those who think they have the power,
Are floundering, flustered, chasing their tails,
Tripping over their feet, concocting their tales,
Empty stories devoid of truth to bring him down.
The so-called power-players panicking,
Floored by the opportunity presented,
Taken by surprise by the offer of betrayal and
The sudden chance to spring their twisted plan.
They see themselves as strong,
Whilst all along they ooze weakness.
Hasty messages cobbled to a vain oppressor,
Begging for an audience, to have their own way,
Pleading for a quick decision in their favour,
Done in the gloom of night rather than the light of day.
If they should bring this prisoner for trial
The last thing they want is an easy acquittal.
And meanwhile in that quiet garden,
Seemingly on the fringes, on the edge, in the shadows,
He is in truth at the centre of the world,
At the tipping point of history,
And as the night closes in,
As disciples sleep and blood flows in sweated
Streams of red drops, cleansing the earth,
Living water, reviving, sluicing and flooding with new birth,
The one truly, humbly, quietly in control waits,
Kneeling calmly, choosing, choosing, choosing.
Aligning his will to the way of salvation,
Bringing rescue to a jilted universe, and to every nation.
Breath to a broken and hijacked creation.
His life laid down, shipwrecked, bursting open,
So that it may live on forever and course like molten love
Through the veins of a world-gone mad,
Consumed, absorbed, misguided and sad,
A world crashing and burning,
Buckling, and turning in on itself.
And if he has to he will wait all night,
Knowing that now the time is right,
And the way of peace is opening up.
Matthew 26:36-46; Mark 14:32-42