Here are the poems from our Morning Meditations.
Seven words is a series of poems for Holy Week. In one week, everything changed. All that we thought we knew about God would be challenged.
TUESDAY: PROPHESY
Martha…
I see the House
brimming with sound that night
music, voices, laughter
Your words floating in the air
I watched you.
My brothers chatter broke through my reverie
Four days dead -
yet he reclines with you here.
I am still stunned.
You called him from his sleep
and I have no other means by which
to thank you.
so, I busy myself with serving
What more can I give but this food to eat
At Lazarus tomb
I saw you weep.
These men come to witness you,
and the man you raised
Jostling with each other for a better view
Yet where you sit, lamps glow and motion seems to still
Lazarus’ eyes shine brightly
In reverent praise
And at your feet Mary takes her place
her hair falling in waves
Against you.
In her hand a bottle
of pure nard is cradled
In her eyes, adoration.
upon your feet, a pound of palest yellow oil seeps
Breaking the seal and gathering up her hair
She Washes your feet
with loose tendrils
The room that had been filled with words
Is now heavy with earthy aroma
And Displeasure and outrage.
Judas cries, “Three hundred denarii”
But his mouth betrays avaricious desire.
Your word a trenchant blade replies.
This is ointment for the day
Of my burial
Words that I failed to understand.
What gesture is this from Mary hands
What did it reveal to us
Of what you were about to suffer?
written by Ash Chambers
WEDNESDAY: PAUSE
You press pause...
And Bethany-town calls you back
A chance to draw breath
A heart full of quiet. (To quieten a full heart?)
Dust dances in the sunlight
You find a cool spot in the shade
And shut your eyes.
Events of recent days
Crystallise,
In this quiet borderland...
The before.
Is it the way the grave clothes fall
Or how your voice catches
When you call your friend up
And out
Before?
Maybe in this moments pause
You draw deep breaths of a heady scent...
a memory of sounds
The breaking of a vessel and a life,
herald of a sacrifice
Before?
You press pause and
A myriad of moments
Place you here, in this borderland
On this threshold,
A place of orientation
A finely tuned call.
Turning your thoughts
And setting your face
Silently crafting
A beautiful grace (lovely)
That changes everything
That changes it all.
And so I press pause.
Dust catches in the sunlight
Tiny specks of a parched life...
And I’m witness to a sound,
I hear the grave clothes fall.
Hold a broken jar with a heady scent
And I’m surprised by the challenge
Of everything it meant.
In the pause in this place
Your fragrance lingers near
Mingled with memories of braver moments
Strong hope meshed with urgent prayers...
And in the pause
My hand in yours.
This terrain, this holy landscape
The borderland
threshold of sacrifice…
Before
For ... Here I am free
To pour out my life.
And Lord as I pause in this borderland place
Quietly, quietly
You fill it with grace…
written by Jane Reeves
THURSDAY | LOVE
The Feast
You sent us to that upper room to remember that ancient Feast
To prepare our hearts and homes to remember that great deliverance from our enemies
To remember that ancient promise of a strong deliverer because of a Lamb
Not any lamb but each of us is to take an unblemished male lamb
The blood of that lamb will be the sign that we are to be rescued from our oppressors
You say you are eager to eat this meal, with us before your suffering
You will eat again but on the other side of that hill
We all gather, and you take the towel and wash our feet
Washing what is on the outside, but soon to wash what is inside
This ancient meal is to remember a story. A meal that tells your unending story
Outstretched arm of our Lamb upon the seder plate, mixed with bitter herbs
An egg telling of new life, but we dip it into salty water
Closest to you are the three unleavened breads.
Bread of heaven!
They kept us in that wilderness
You gaze at them then pull them close and tear them into pieces and tell us to do this to remember you.
You take the cup of wine and say it is a New Covenant in your blood.
I hear in part. I see in part.
But the story is still to unfold.
This is no longer a ritual or history lesson.
You are that bread. You are that cup.
You are that male unblemished lamb, that bitter water that gives new life.
All twelve of us you kept, from the beginning till the end, except the one who departs with head bowed low, avoiding your gaze of sacrificial love.
He looks away from mercy too deep.
To that garden of tears you now depart.
A second Adam, that Lion with a lamb’s heart.
A love so amazing so divine, demands my soul, my life my all.
written by Brad Askew
FRIDAY | DIE
On that Cross
What was it like Lord?
How could you forgive them after what they did?
You were about to die.
Not fun.
Didn’t you want to run?
Yet you still made sure.
John looked after your mum.
Still offering Salvation.
To the men crucified.
Either side.
Forgive them they know not what they do?
That’s Powerful.
Who are you?
Are you really the Son of Man?
With a plan.
To save the world.
The brokenness of man.
Is that why you came?
To set us captives free.
For Eternity.
Lord I wanna follow Thee.
My Saviour who died in Calvary.
Thank you for saving me.
As I see you on that cross.
Both Mary’s
Numb and lost.
Painful cost.
You took on all our sins Lord.
Didn’t you.
So when you died.
Our Life became new.
You did this.
Didn’t you.
Thank you.
written by Andy Eisentrager
SUNDAY | THE BEST VICTORY
The best victory
The biggest trophy
Pulling it back from the brink of defeat
Against all the odds
When all hope was lost
The bad guys had won
The end in sight, no happy twist
Or sudden intervention
The crowds dispersed
Spectators heading home
To beat the rush and avoid
Yet further disappointment
You couldn’t hear hope
As a pin drop
Not even for a moment
And the pattern seemed set:
No further disruptions
From here to eternity…
How silently
HOW SILENTLY
The wondrous gift is given
Waking in the garden
Unseen, unknown, unbidden
The kind of casual glory
That steps out of bed one morning
The kind of sweet relief
That splits your soul wide open
And when he said
“It is finished…”
Well,
this time he meant it.
written by Robin Mitchell