Some Call Him Yeshua...

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

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YESHUA^[1]

Yeshua

Yes You are

The Miraculous Offspring

Of I Am

Yeshua

Yes You are

The Paschal

Lamb

Yeshua

Our Atonement

Flowed down

Crossed

Wooden beams

Ebbing Life

Became

Our Great Salvation

Yes it did

Suffering Servant

Lion of Judah

Sar ha Shalom^[2]

Yeshua

Yes You are

Ha Mashiach^[3]

Yes!

You Are.

Maude Carolan

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[1] Hebrew for Jesus

[2] Hebrew for Prince of Peace

[3] Hebrew for the Messiah

Pilate Asked Him, "What is Truth?"

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: ramsteinchurchofchrist.wordpress.com

WHAT IS TRUTH?

John 18:38

I first learned

the importance of truth

at my mother’s knee

My children

learned it at mine

Life has taught me

truth is truth, even

if no one believes it

if no one wants to believe it

if every man is a liar

What’s true is true, even

if millions is spent

to disprove it

if it’s argued against

lobbied against

debated against

railed against

voted against

legislated against

Truth Is

 absolute—

even if it’s watered down

to make it acceptable

skirted around

to soften its appeal             

lubed with oil

so it goes down

nice and easy

sugar coated

to make it palatable

even if it looks

soooo, soooo good

Truth is Truth

whether it’s popular

or unpopular

…even

in the face

of persecution

Pilate asked,

What is truth?

The Psalmist wrote,

The sum of God’s word

is truth

Jesus said,

I Am the Truth

He also said,

Everyone on the side

of truth

listens to Me

I believe the supreme

Truth is a Man

and His unchanging Word

…even though    

He be crucified

Jesus—

Salvation Truth

Resurrection Truth

Living Truth

Truth—

I can stand up for

Maude Carolan Pych

Oh Jesus, My Savior...

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: pinterest.com

BEAUTIFUL

It’s not a pretty sight -

It’s beautiful.

            Crimson streaming

            From His crown

                        Hands,

                                    Side,

                                                Feet,

            Onto my head,

                        Flowing down my face,

                                    Over my body,

                                                Covering my feet,

                                                            Making me whiter than snow.

It’s not a pretty sight -

It’s beautiful.

            It’s agony.

            He calls for His Father,

            Writhes, gasps, thirsts.

                        Oh, the weighty burden

                        Of sin upon the Sinless One,

                                    The world’s,

                                                Mine,

                                                            Yours.

            Agony,

            Ushering the covenant of salvation -

                        The world’s,

                                    Mine,

                                                Yours.

It’s not a pretty sight -

It’s beautiful.

            It is finished.

            They take Him down

                        From the good and terrible Cross.

            Hastily,

                        They place Him in the tomb.

            Securely,

                        They seal the rolling stone.

                        They guard His grave

                                    In awesome,

                                                Tremulous,

                                                            Expectant

                                                                        Stillness.

It’s not a pretty sight -

It’s beautiful.

            His Body, gone.

                        Gone!  With power

                        In one resplendent moment -

                        Seal unsealed,

                                    Stone rolled,

                                                Earth jolted on its axis.

                        Angels appear, hallowing -

                                    Alleluia!  Alleluia!

                                                He is Risen!

                                                            We live

                                                            Because He lives.

                                                                                    Oh! He is beautiful.

                                                                                    Beautiful.

Maude Carolan

The Binding of Isaac & The Cross

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

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LOVE AND THE AKEDAH

The Binding of Isaac – Genesis 22

"Take your son

your only son

whom you love…"

Twenty-two chapters into Scripture

and it's the first time love is mentioned

as God tells Abraham,

"Sacrifice Isaac

as a burnt offering"

What swirls

through the mind

of this old patriarch

(who after a hundred years

fathers the son

of God's promise…

the son he loves

and proudly watches grow)

What swirls as he swings

the sharp axe, splitting wood

It was three days journey

from Beersheba to Moriah—

Leaving his servants behind

Abraham hands Isaac

the bundled wood

and carries fire and knife

up the mount

himself

"Avi" (my father)

"where is the lamb?"

"God will provide the lamb

my son"

Abraham erects an altar of stone

arranges the wood and binds the lad

(whose faith and obedience

must be at least as great as his own)

Unflinching before the God

he has finally come to trust

the aged patriarch

(known to lie

to save his own skin

known to try to pull off

God's covenant himself

when it seemed God was slow

in keeping His promise)

this same patriarch…

raises the glinting blade

above his son, his only son

whom he loves…

Split-second

to knife-fall

the angel of the Lord calls out

"Abraham! Abraham!

Do not lay a hand on the boy…"

The old man

who proves he would

withhold nothing from his God—

drops the bloodless blade

unbinds and embraces Isaac

O boundless relief

Effusive praise

and there, tangled

in a thicket, struggles

the substitute sacrifice

…a ram

Two millennia later

God's Son

His only Son

Whom He loves

carries wood

of a crossbeam

up the very same mountain

No angel of the Lord

arrives last moment

to halt the hammerfall

No ram appears

in a thicket

For God so loves

the world

He provides…

His Son

His only Son…The Sacrificial Lamb

Maude Carolan

Are You Accustomed to The Cross?

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

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ACCUSTOMED TO THE CROSS

I’m accustomed to the Cross.

I’ve seen it since childhood

gleaming high atop steeples,

crucifixes behind altar rails,

on hospital walls,

on bedroom walls,

depicted in framed masterpieces,

depicted in sculpted masterpieces,

described in written masterpieces,

marking graves in cemeteries,

illustrated in holy books,

affixed to lapels,

tattooed on forearms,

hanging silver and golden

and studded with diamonds

and sapphires from the necks

of men, women, children—

hanging, hanging on my mind.

So accustomed, yet

sometimes it is everywhere

and I don’t see it at all.

Today I see it afresh

sturdy and wooden and terrifying

through Good Friday eyes

that send streams down my cheeks

as blood streams from His wounds.

I shudder,

mindful of the Man

dying upon the beams

and the reason He is there—

Shudder

at the horror of it, Jesus my Lamb,

at the magnitude of it, Jesus my King,

at the love upon it, Jesus my Friend,

and my gratitude for it,

O Blessed Jesus,

my precious Lord and Savior

Who by His Death

and Resurrection

purchased eternal life…for me.

Maude Carolan

"A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day" Begins Today

I've just returned from a great vacation with my son Kevin, his wife Omayra and their son Antonio in LA. We fit in a side-trip to San Diego to visit my nephews and their families. I loved every minute and enjoyed every hug. Now that I'm home I will begin posting a poem-a-day until Resurrection Day. Check the blog each day for a poetic meditation on Jesus' atonement for our sins and His glorious Resurrection...

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: aleteia.org

A POEM FOR LENT

I scan Google Images

looking for a depiction of the Crucifixion

to illustrate a Lenten poem on my blog

I’m unable to look squarely at the pictures—

Many are so heart-wrenching, so gruesome

I have to turn away

I think of the four Gospels

providing matter-of-fact statements

to tell us Jesus was crucified

sparing us details

of His suffering

Oh, I’m well aware

it is 2000 years later

and no holds are barred

when it comes to portrayals of violence

I go to the movies

I watch TV

I’ve squirmed through

The Passion of the Christ

with my heart beating fast

and eyes tightly closed

during the bloodiest sequences

I’ve read A Doctor at Calvary^[1]

in which each and every stain

on the Shroud of Turin

is elaborated upon

in minute medical detail

I do not need

more graphic words and pictures

My mind’s eye sees

His thorn-crowned Head

His nail-pierced hands

My mind’s ear hears

Father, forgive them…

          …why hast Thou forsaken Me?

It is finished.

At last, I click on an image—

a crossbeam, a circle of thorns

and three nails

I post it to the blog

insert my poem

and shudder

a most grateful shudder

that Jesus, my beloved Savior

endured that terrible Cross

for me

Maude Carolan Pych

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[1] A Doctor at Calvary by Pierre Barbet, M.D., published by Image Books, a division of Doubleday & Co., Inc., Garden City, NY

The Love of God...

A Lenten Meditation in Poetry

Image credit: dcicc.net

IT PLEASED THE LORD TO CRUSH HIM^[1]

When I applied stinging iodine

to the tender knees of my children

or a corrective spank

or a hug to assuage a broken heart

I remember that

their wounds, hurts

even the chastisements

wounded me more than them –

Why, I would've become a she-lion

poised to pounce and mangle

bruisers of my own –

yet the very God I know as Love

was pleased to crush

was delighted to bruise^[2]

His Very Own

So, I shudder, convinced

God's ways are infinitely higher

than my finite mind can grasp –

for God stayed His almighty hand

held His almighty tongue

waited it out in His Heaven

pleased, even delighted

to give His Only Son

innocent, docile as a lamb

to be mocked, bruised, spat upon

crowned with thorn branches

stripped and nailed naked to a tree –

yes, pleased and delighted was He

as the Most Precious Blood

of His Only Son

rained like rubies

upon the ground

Pleased and delighted am I

that the God Who so loves

crushed and bruised

His Very Own

for me

Maude Carolan

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[1] Isaiah 53:10 "New American Standard Bible"

[2] Isaiah 53:10 , "Young's Literal Translation of the Holy Bible"