A-Poem-a-Day
Until Resurrection Sunday
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| Image credit: robyanok.com |
REMEMBERING GOOD FRIDAYS
When I was a girl, back in the 50’s
my grandmother said
there should be no talking on Good Friday
between the hours of one and three
no running around, no radio and no TV
all out of respect for our Savior
Who suffered and died
upon the Cross at Calvary
so try though we did to be silent and still
we were as fidgety, squirmy and irksome
as any healthy active kids would be
who had not yet grasped
the profound depth of what happened
that terrible good day
and in the 70’s when my own children
were young and restless
I would bring them to church
during the very same hours Grandma decreed
to venerate the holy Cross
We’d approach the altar
where the Crucifix was displayed
kneel down and kiss the nail pierced feet of Jesus
or solemnly watch a reenactment of the Passion
by the youth group
Now, so many years later
now that I am a grandmother myself
I sit without fidgeting and fumbling
willingly turn off the radio and the TV
and carve out meaningful time to meditate
upon all my precious Lord endured
to save me from my sins
Sometimes I sing
“Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?”
Sometimes I weep
and sometimes, like today, I write a poem
Always, Jesus’ great sacrifice breaks my heart
and always, looking ahead to the empty tomb
I’m reminded of the Hallelujah Hope
I have in Him—which
is eternal
My grandma would be so pleased
Maude Carolan Pych
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