One of the most stunning elements in Moltmann's theological explorations is the way he takes with utmost seriousness, Jesus' cry of abandonment, and its implications for the inner life of the Triune God. Not everyone is comfortable with Moltmann's theology of divine agonising and his insistence that the death of the Son implies the grievous bereavement of the Father, borne and absorbed into the life of God through the Spirit.
But here is mystery beyond all our efforts at lucid coherence and systematic control. The truth is, no honest grappling with such searing realities should leave us feeling other than uncomfortable - because all honest and prayerful struggle to understand, and adore and surrender should be recognised for what it is - taking off the shoes of our intellect in acknowledgement of Love's eternal and redemptive and patient purpose.
The following comment and poem comes from Chris, a friend I haven't met yet! She has her own poetry blog here and she can also be found at Blethers which you can access on my sidebar. I found Chris's blog when I was chasing theology and poetry stuff last year during my sabbatical, and I liked it a lot. I asked if she'd contribute her poem to our Moltmann week and I'm grateful to be able to share it more widely.
Sometimes poetry seems to me to be the only vehicle suitable to express an idea or an emotion. This poem arose from my reading of a small part of Jürgen Moltmann's "The Trinity and the Kingdom".
It is dark, dark night.
Take this cup – suddenly in the dark
it is too awful. But the warm tide
is receding into the dark
and the cold sweat of emptiness
takes its place. The desperate words
fall unheeded on the stony ground.
Withdrawn in a point of light
God has no ears, only pain
and tight-focussed squeezing of the great
love now raw and bright
above Golgotha. The night is past
but dark remains, and emptiness.
A searing cry bruises the great mind
drenched in the pain of loss and
separation – and this is done
for me, this hellish loss, this bruising …
so that I can see, can understand,
am not forsaken. It is too much.
Too much for me. Too much.