Editor's note:

We are about to enter Holy Week. The last week of Jesus’ jour­ney began opti­misti­cal­ly on Sun­day morn­ing when He entered Jerusalem to shouts of wel­come. But things then took a ter­ri­ble turn. Work­ing behind the scenes, one of His own dis­ci­ples arranged His arrest late Thurs­day evening. In our med­i­ta­tion on that dread­ful night, we resolve to remain awake and atten­tive to what Jesus expe­ri­enced in the dark­ness of Geth­se­mane as He opened his heart to all that breaks our hearts, and entered deeply into our pain. Michael Card’s song To a Bro­ken God” offers this glimpse (view it on YouTube).

—Miriam Dixon

Did­n’t see You there, did­n’t know You were weep­ing too;
I think of tears as a human wound.
Though of course You care, You have shown You were human too,
They say You cried at Lazarus’ tomb. 

I was unaware how it is with a bro­ken God,
I thought of You as above my pain.
Lost in my despair, so it is with a bro­ken heart,
I nev­er dreamed You could feel the same. 

Once, in a mag­a­zine I saw a face
wrin­kled up in grief and tra­vailed grace;
I kept look­ing to that face,
some sad refugee in some sad place.
And in his eyes the sor­row of our race;
then I saw it was the face of God,
the face of God — Your face, dear God. 

Some say You’re not there, just a myth for a lazy life,
an arti­fact from an ancient scroll.
But I have known You near in the gift of a weary sigh,
Lord of the lost and the lone­some soul. 

I was unaware how it is with a bro­ken God,
I nev­er dreamed You could feel the same.


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An inten­tion­al way to read for trans­for­ma­tion. Cur­rent­ly under­way and runs through May 2021.

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