fourth sunday of lent
One crown that no one seeks
And yet the highest head
Its isolation coveted
Its stigma deified
While Pontius Pilate lives
In whatsoever hell
That coronation pierces him
He recollects it well.
Emily Dickinson
Went to see Bach's St. Matthew Passion last night. Shortened, but still excellent. (Made me realize how much I miss singing with the chorus at college. The (itty-bitty) church choir just isn't the same.) Got chills when they sang the opening chorus.
Come, daughters, help me mourn!
And yet the highest head
Its isolation coveted
Its stigma deified
While Pontius Pilate lives
In whatsoever hell
That coronation pierces him
He recollects it well.
Emily Dickinson
Went to see Bach's St. Matthew Passion last night. Shortened, but still excellent. (Made me realize how much I miss singing with the chorus at college. The (itty-bitty) church choir just isn't the same.) Got chills when they sang the opening chorus.
Come, daughters, help me mourn!
