Good Friday Sonnet

Not many anymore have had to lift
A body, for today this rite resides
In protocols of people working shifts.
When loved ones die, we call, and stand aside,
To let the staff perform their task alone,
In head and heart, our weight is real and hard.
We feel the weight but not in limb and bone;
And so our own impending deaths seem far
Away from facts like pounds and cubic feet.
I’d guess Christ weighed one hundred forty pounds
At least when Joseph brought a linen sheet
To wrap around him once he brought him down.
Could he, up there, receive on shoulder’s heft
The burden of that body life had left?

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You can listen to me read it here
https://soundcloud.com/benwhitepoetry/good-friday-sonnet