Keaton Sapp’s Sixth Station in his series, The Stations of the Cross is titled, “The Descent.” It is based on Matthew 27:45-50 which reads,

Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land until the ninth hour. And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And some of the bystanders, hearing it, said, “This man is calling Elijah.” And one of them at once ran and took a sponge, filled it with sour wine, and put it on a reed and gave it to him to drink. But the others said, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.” And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice and yielded up his spirit.

Keaton has used the image of a fig tree to depict the passion narrative. It is an appropriate allusion as the prophets make use of the image to depict Israel herself.

In the sonnet which I’ve composed in response to Keaton’s work, I was reminded that in John’s depiction of the heavenly city in Revelation, trees flank both sides of the river of life. In this wood of life (no longer merely a tree but trees), the trees bear fruit each month and the leaves of the tree are for healing. This city park of peace is a beautiful image for me. Revelation 22:1-2 reads,

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.

The death of Jesus is so tragic, and yet his death brings healing to the nations, brings healing to me. In this pandemic age and eastertide, this image is a comfort.

You may listen to me read the sonnet via the player below.

From the tree’s height life falls as leaves let go
To dying by mere single, small, slow drops—
A cascade of inevitable blows:
First, breathing strains, then the beating heart stops.

Down, down, down, leaves fall and cover the ground;
One by one life leaves, litters the hill;
The tree’s arms grow bare, his bark burnt and browned
By death’s dark shadow and winter’s cold chill.

But in a future city’s heart days hence,
A grove of trees stand along a river bright;
Their leaves wind with salvation’s sweet fragrance,
Shimmer dappled blessing and spangled light.
And those leaves fall with healing not with death,
Love blows with blessing full of living breath.

© Randall Edwards 2020.
This poem is for Christ’s church. If it is helpful, please feel free to copy or reprint in church bulletins, read aloud, or repost. I only ask that an attribution be cited to myself (Randall Edwards) and this blog (backwardmutters.com). Thank you.
Artwork: © Keaton Sapp 2020, “The Crucifixion” Pen and ink. All Rights Reserved.

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