by Pavel Chichikov
The Temple is a furnished upper room
The night that He becomes our paschal lamb;
He rests but not between the cherubim:
Angels blow the trumpet of the ram
Who will lay His body on the altar?
God Himself will stretch upon the wood;
Tell the twelve apostles to remember,
But will the offering be understood?
His acolytes are ordinary men;
There are no chanting Levites to provide
The ceremony or the easy victim –
The burning on the altar is our pride
Who will climb the mountain of the Lord?
An ordinary room is where He gives
The blessing that the Pharisees ignored,
The body of the Passover who lives
Then come with us, His temple never falls,
The Holiest of holies is exposed,
The chambers of His living heart the walls
And all may drink the sacrifice that flows
(See Pavel's new book, Mysteries and Stations, here.)
