The Passion

Since it's Lent... here's all my poetry that's related to / about the Passion of Jesus.

  Precious PearlMany things
are precious to me,
treasures collected
over the years,
fulfillment of wishes,
my heart's desire -
I love them,
would not let them go.
But you, o Lord,
are so much more -
I see it day by day:
your love to me
is worth so much
that I could never pay.
So what can I do?
You've covered me
with blessings so abundantly,
undeserved.
The most precious pearl.
So I let it go
and give all up
to have only you
for you are enough.
I pour out on you
all that I have,
this precious oil
my sign of love. (the anointing at Bethany)

  Is This Right?My Lord
       became like the least of His people,
       became a servant,
       crawled on the floor washing sweaty feet,
       touched dirty faces and dead bodies,
       loved the unloveable,
       obeyed against His will,
       died, blessing His killers. -
And I?
I
       relax in bed
       with a cup of tea,
       without a thought for those suffering outside,
       avoiding pain, and any discomfort,
       spoiling myself,
       dreaming of the things I'd like -
Is this right? (the footwashing)

Denial"You there.
You also were with Jesus of Nazareth."
Please tell me you were.
I've heard
so much.
I'd like to know
so much.
You were there,
you saw it all -
blind who could see,
lame who could walk -
is it all true?
Tell me I'm right,
and that you are one of his -
there's so much I'd like to know.
Why do you deny it?
Was I wrong?
Didn't I see you,
singing with them all,
waving palms
to prepare his way?
"This man -
I'm certain -
he's one of them."
Why do you deny it
so vehemently?
I only want to hear
what you have seen;
I only want to know
whether the stories are true,
whether he deserves to die,
and what you think of all this.
Why run away
when all of us know:
"Certainly you're one of them;
for you're a Galilean."
As you deny him
you deny me
the chance to find
the answers I seek.
Why are you afraid,
why do you lie,
when all I want
is to hear the truth? In the CourtyardDon't look at me, Lord -
for it fills me with shame.
Your eyes pierce right through me
to the depths of my soul,
to the dark murky depths of my sin.
And yet
I need you to look at me,
to see all of me
and call me back
to the love I forsook.
Don't cry for me, Lord -
for I don't deserve your pain.
Your love shatters all my confidence,
breaks down all my pride,
brings me down to the ground at your feet.
And yet
I need you to cry for me,
to love me still
when I am unable
to forgive myself.
Don't go, o Lord -
for if you go on, you will die.
And you are too good, too pure to die,
you don't deserve to bear my shame,
my guilt, my sin - my death.
And yet
I need you to die for me,
to bear my load
and set me free,
so I can rise again.  The RockThis is no rock.
This is a landslide
crumbling down,
pulling others to the depths,
burying, not building up.
This is dust,
flying away with the wind,
too lost to guide,
too weak to stay.
This is jelly,
trembling and shaking,
unable to support,
unable to stand.
This is no rock.
The one You called Rock
is a trembling wreck,
crying alone
in a silent alleyway.
The one You called Rock
has come crashing down,
is broken and lost
because he could not stand.
The one You called Rock
was a mistake.
And yet
you are never mistaken.
You keep your promises.
You will yet make
a rock out of me.
You saw this long ago
and yet you chose me -
ME!
For you do not choose
because of what we are
and you do not choose
because of what we can do.
You choose what is weak,
you choose what seems useless,
you choose and transform,
you transform even me.
This is no rock -
but the God of Wonders
can make it into one. (Peter's denial)

Mrs Pilate: I Will Not Be SilentI could say that wrong is right,
do injustice to have my way,
close my eyes and close my ears
to truth and justice.
I could join in the injustice,
just because all others do it,
shout along with all the crowd:
CRUCIFY HIM.
I could stand there doing nothing
in the face of open wrong,
wash my hands in innocence,
refuse responsibility.
What can I do?
I'm powerless.
The powerful
do nothing, or ill.
What can I do?
I'm only a woman.
What can I do?
I can speak up for what is right,
stand up for justice, for this righteous man.
I will speak, though it be pointless.
Silent is what I will not be. (before Pilate)

Daughters of Jerusalem: CryI cry
for you -
for those scars on your back.
I cry
for you -
for the cross that you bear.
I cry
for you
and for what's soon to come.
I can't bear to look,
and yet I'm staring,
horrified,
as blood and sweat
pour down your face.
I cry and cry,
I cry for you.
I cry
for you -
they say you're innocent.
I cry
for you -
they said you'd save us all.
I cry
for you
and all those dashed hopes.
You pass - you stop.
You look at me,
pityingly,
as streaming tears
flow from my eyes.
Why do you cry?
Don't cry for me.
Cry for yourselves -
cry for your sins.
I cried
for you -
because of their cruelty.
But do I ever cry
when I'm cruel myself?
I cried
for you -
for the wrong they were doing.
But do I ever cry
for the wrongs that I've done?
Do I ever see
the wrong path that I'm walking
and cry
for the death I am bringing
on myself?
In your suffering,
in your pain,
you thought first of me.
As they lead you
to your death
you want life for me.
How can I comprehend
this crazy love
that turns a day of mo Mary Mother of James and Joses: Calvary"Come down off the cross!
Save yourself!"
I hear them jeering from afar,
as I watch from a distance
in agony
how you suffer, forsaken by all.
They taunt and they jeer,
they gamble for your clothes;
no one shows pity,
no compassion anywhere.
Nails have pierced
your hands, your feet,
and blood runs down
your thorn-crowned brow.
If I could but cling
to that cruel cross,
and kiss those blood-stained feet,
and show you someone loves you still -
why am I too afraid?
Come down off the cross -
save yourself!
Why don't you?
I know that you can.
Why do you let them do this to you?
Why do you suffer, forsaken by all?
So many hopes,
so many dreams -
what of them now?
Weren't you the Messiah?
Weren't you the King?
Now you are helpless,
crying in pain,
broken, thristy,
dying.
What becomes of us
when you are gone?
"My God, my God,
why have you forsaken me?"
Jesus, Jesus,
why are you forsaking us?
Why now, when everything was just beginning?
Why do you let them do this to you?
Why do you suffer, forsa  At the CrossI see the cross on which you died;
I stand and wonder at the sight.
What sorrow and what pain is here -
but oh! what grace and comfort, too!
I stand in awe and rev'rent fear,
I stand in awe and worship you.
I see your feet,
those beautiful feet
that preached good news,
brought tidings of peace,
those feet that left the Throne above,
now nailed to the wood,
all for me.
And I thank you, Lord Jesus,
for your piercèd feet.
I see your knees,
those humble knees
that knelt on the ground
like a slave, washing feet,
those knees that prayed in Gethsemane,
now bruised and bloodied,
all for me.
And I thank you, Lord Jesus,
for your blood-stained knees.
I see your side,
that loving side
to which you hugged children
and drew the outcast,
that side to which you call the world,
now pouring water, blood and love,
all for me.
And I thank you, Lord Jesus,
for your bleeding side.
I see your hands,
those gentle hands
with which you blessed
and healed the sick,
those hands that touched lepers
now str (at the Cross)

Joanna: FinishedIt is finished
- over,
our hopes as broken as your body.
There's nothing you can give me now.
Your healing hands are pierced and torn,
your loving heart - cold.
There's nothing you can give me now,
no benefit in staying here -
but here I am
by your side
not taking anymore,
but giving
a last gift to you.
It is finished
- over,
or
 complete?
We wrap you in linen -
one last look at your face.
We roll the stone before your grave -
finished?
The seed has fallen
into the ground.
Will it awake
to bring forth fruit?
Lord, is it finished -
or has it just begun? (Jesus' burial)

Mary Magdalene: GoneGone
are my hopes:
nailed to the cross.
Gone
are my dreams:
drowned in blood.
So much I gave -
for nothing?
Gone
is my Lord
and what I thought he was.
An empty grave.
Gone
my hope of a last goodbye.
Gone
the chance of one last look
at your so loving face.
Gone -
where have they taken you?
Gone -
what am I to do now?
"Woman,
why are you weeping?
Whom are you seeking?"
Gone
are my hopes:
nailed to the cross.
Gone
are my dreams:
drowned in blod.
"Mary."
At last
my eyes can see!
"Rabboni!"
Here
is no good-bye
but a new beginning.
Here
I see you for who you are.
Here -
for you are risen again.
Here -
and you make all things new!
Gone
are my sins:
nailed to the cross.
Gone
are my failings:
drowned in your blood.
So much you gave -
for you, may I live.
Here
are you Lord
and you always will be. (the Resurrection)