By Kate Davis
The music has stopped.
There is only the quiet and the cross.
People are on their way home. Back to their dinners and their Netflix and their lives.
But you are still here, nailed, dead. In the silence.
It is finished.
The music begins again.
It lifts even the air. It helps us breathe again.
You still hang there in the darkness, but the music whispers to us, "Light is coming. The Light of the World. Wait. Wait. Wait! LIGHT IS COMING!"
Our heads are bowed in sorrow this night. Our hearts hang low at the sight of your crown of thorns, the nails.
But the music whispers.