It is finished
The work that God has done
Not for ever but
Enough for now, enough to pause,
To contemplate, to observe,
To find satisfaction
Now

A rest day, a holy day
No new faces, no new call
Time to bed in, to be reconciled,
Accustomed, acclimatised
To each other, to the changes
Of the week now past

It is finished
Our journey, our following, our dream
Of a free Israel and a goodly King
Today God is gone, silent,
Resting. He has finished the race
The signs, the life, this
Age

A rest day, a holy day
No new faces, no new call
Time to bed in, to be reconciled,
Accustomed, acclimatised
To each other, to the changes
Of the week now past

It is finished
The rush and clamour of Holy Week
A church empty of rites
And people – and God
Silent, waiting, shocked, bare
Stripped of order, ritual, safety:
Raw

A rest day, a holy day
No new faces, no new call
Time to bed in, to be reconciled,
Accustomed, acclimatised
To each other, to the changes
Of the week now past

It is finished
An old age of rush and scarcity
Of toil and vanity
Of rule and force, of mine and yours
Of now or never.
The true Sabbath begins
Now

A rest day, a holy day
One new week, one new call
Work to rest in, not from;
Reconciled, accustomed to
The joy, the business, the colleagues
Of the week now here

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