Take a quiet moment...IMAGINE the "real" day to day JESUS

 

IMAGINE

Imagine worshipping a cooing one moment, whimpering the next, born to save us, sweet baby God, lying in a trough filled with scratchy straw, needing a diaper change

Imagine worshipping a stone-kicking, frog-in-pocket, sticky-fingered, tousle-haired God, gleefully splish-splashing through mud-puddles along a rocky Nazareth road

Imagine worshipping a nose-in-the-Scroll, confident little boy-God, teaching in the Temple, confounding elders with astonishing Truths, as His parents search for Him

Imagine worshipping a rugged, long-haired, son-of-a-carpenter adolescent God, as He learns (ironically) to skillfully select woods and deftly wield a hammer and nails

Imagine worshipping a gregarious, life-of-the-party, wedding-guest God, Who miraculously turns stone jars of purification water into jars of finest wine at Cana

Imagine worshipping a child embracing, woe pronouncing, multitude feeding, leper cleansing God, Who walks upon water, instructs the wind and even raises the dead

Imagine worshipping a bread-breaking, wine-offering, foot-washing God, Who soon to be betrayed, beseeches His Heavenly Father, and sweats blood in an olive garden

Imagine worshipping a 30-something, blood-splattered, fist-struck, scourged and spat-upon God, laboriously lugging a cumbersome crossbeam to His own execution

Imagine worshipping a thorn-crowned, sword-pierced, crucified-with-common-criminals sacrificial Lamb of God, as He dies sinless for the sin of the world

Imagine worshipping a resurrected three-days-after-burial God, Who appears ALIVE! Yes, ALIVE! in His own burial garden, in locked rooms and to strangers along the road

Imagine worshipping this crucified, resurrected, gloriously ascending-in-the-clouds, victorious Son of God, Who says, "Go into the world and tell them." Tell them…

He did it for them

Imagine...

Maude Carolan

This poem appears in my chapbook, From My Heart to Yours at Christmas...Cookies & Poems. Scroll to the bottom of the blog for ordering information.

                    

Christmas is coming...

LITTLENESS

Matthew 19:14

In a little manger, in a little town,

was born a little boy,

to a little family of little means.

He brought the world great joy!

If the Lord of All could come so small,

with the biggest, highest aim,

then why oh why must we buy and buy

for the day that bears His Name?

We shop, we trim, we bake, we cook,

we visit, we send, we party,

we run up the tally on credit cards,

the bills we pay are tardy.

While the hustle and bustle can be great fun,

sometimes it steals our peace,

sometimes the true Christmas spirit gets lost

when our busyness won’t cease.

From the little manger, the little town,

the crib of the little boy,

comes a little Christmas thought to muse,

which may heighten Christmas joy…

Let us celebrate with littleness,

become as the little Child,

with simplicity, wonder, innocence,

pure Love that’s undefiled…

and The Savior, Our Lord, who was that Child,

shall smile at us, well pleased,

“For the kingdom,” He said, “of Heaven belongs

to people such as these!”

Maude Carolan

 

This poem was inspired by a sermon delivered by Messianic Pastor/Rabbi Jonathan Cahn of Beth Israel Worship Center, Wayne, NJ. It is included in my chapbook, From My Heart to Yours at Christmas...Cookies & Poems.

It's the season to gather around the table with our families...

HOMECOMING

She smiled as she dusted

the framed photographs

on the old oak credenza,

sang as she swept the kitchen floor,

even Lysoled the bathroom bowl

with effervescence.

Humming a spirited hymn, the woman

rolled pastry into a ten inch circle.

She sliced Granny Smiths, brandishing

the sleek, shiny blade with flourish.

Spontaneous praise proceeded from her lips

as she turned the hearty roast

and added onions, carrots and peeled potatoes

to the simmering juices in the pan.

She set the dining room table

with the good dishes,

the good flatware,

her very best linen,

and a milk glass bowl

filled with gold edged roses

from the Mother’s Day gift bush

blooming bountifully in the front yard.

Her feet ached, but her eyes sparkled.

This was among life’s highest joys:

Her adult children would soon be at the door

bringing hugs and tales and laughter

and she would get to serve them Sunday dinner.

Maude Carolan

 

I’M NOT JEWISH

except that the sap

which rises

from sturdy old olive roots

flows through the veins

of this grafted branch

I’m not Jewish

except for my flesh

which still shudders

at the Shoah

(of sisters and brothers

of the natural branch)

and the same root

and swears

I’d have done something...

something

I’m not Jewish

except for my feet

which have walked

the holy, well worn pathways

in Eretz Yisrael

except for my fingertips

which pressed petitions

between stones

of the Western Wall

except for my ears

which perk to the cantoring

of the S’hma

the Aaronic Benediction

the Kiddush

over bread and wine

except for my eyes

which look

upon The Lamb,

my Atonement

except for my lips

which chant

ancient baruchas

to Ha Shem

I’m not Jewish

except for my heart

which bears the cloven mark

of circumcision

and loves Y’shua,

the Jewish Messiah

Who was pierced

for my transgressions

Who shed

His precious Jewish Blood

for me

Maude Carolan

*This poem won third prize for poetry at the annual St. Catherine of Bologna Photo, Art & Poetry Exhibition, Ringwood, New Jersey, in 2010.