Terrible...& Beautiful

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

The following post is for Wednesday, February 21st.
I'll be off-line for one week

and will resume posting daily Lenten poems, March 1.

The following poem was written several years ago at Beth Israel Worship Center.

Marty Goetz was singing, "The Love of God."

The lights were low in the sanctuary.

The congregants were worshipful

as he sang the words, "...See on that Tree, the Love of God."

At that moment, I was inspired to write the following poem.

It was written on a scrap of paper, in the dark.

Image credit: soundfaith.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

He Refused...

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: pinterest.co.uk

HE REFUSED

They mocked

and struck and spat and stripped

and drove spikes

through His hands and feet.

One offered wine and myrrh

to take the pointed edge

off the Excruciation.

The Savior

peered down

through kind, hot eyes,

pursed His parched lips

and shook His bleeding head.

He chose...chose!

to bear the fullness

of the sin

that nailed Him

to those crude

crossed beams;

chose to drink

the brimming chalice dry,

chose to pay the full price,

without bargain or barter,

without wholesaling

or discounting

or quibbling

or niggling it

of its terrible,

priceless

Value.

Maude Carolan

It Pleased the Lord...

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: bibleprophecytruth.com

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

---

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

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

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Photo credit: bookhaven.stanford.edu

IT'S ALL ABOUT…THE LAMB

It's not about you

It's not about me

about how we look

or our family tree

It's not where we work

or how much we make

It's not what we give

or how much we take

It's not who we know

It's not if we’re fit

It's not how we vote

or if we have wit

It’s not if we’re good

or even quite bad

It’s not if we’re angry

or upbeat and glad!

What it is, is simple

as simple can be

It's also profound

in its simplicity

It's all about God

Who is the I Am

and His dear Son

our Passover Lamb

All about salvation

and especially Love

Life that’s eternal

with Jesus above

Let’s keep Him center

for there is no doubt

that’s where He belongs—

HE IS WHAT IT’S ABOUT!!!

Maude Carolan Pych

The Binding of Isaac

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: wikiart.com

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

Accustomed to the Cross

A-Poem-a-Day
Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: thoughtco.com

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 for Lent

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.

My mind’s heart

feels His agony

At last, I click on an image—

a crossbeam, a circle of thorns

and three nails

I post it on 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

---

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

It's Ash Wednesday

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: pinterest.com

ASH WEDNESDAY REFLECTION

It’s Ash Wednesday—

Off in the distance I hear thunder

thunder, like the sound of a big bass drum

There’s a BOOM and a BOOM and a BOOM

and a BOOM

like ticking and ticking and ticking

of a clock     Like a pulse     pulsing

Like beats     Heartbeats

Mine—

I’m reminded of time wasted

and time used wisely

of goals realized

and goals not met

Have I said the important things?

Have I done them?

Have I given enough?

Have I loved enough?     Forgiven?

Accepted forgiveness?

Is the world better because I’m here?

Have I done what I need to do       with God?

I listen for the next strike to the drum

and the next

BOOM and a BOOM and a BOOM

I don’t want the rhythm to stop

but       it will

I recall our vigil at Joanne’s bedside—

Remember holding my breath, waiting for her next

waiting for each heartbeat       Wishing

my hoping were enough

to keep her

The beat goes on     It won’t falter

until     BOOM and a BOOM…..BOOM

and     silence

dead silence

and that’s it

That’s when God takes over

Maude Carolan Pych

To My Valentine...

Image credit: theromantic.com

BOB PYCH

I’m blessed to be married

to a Godly man

Let me tell you about him—

Bob received the Lord as a young man

at a Billy Graham crusade in New York City

and has been serving Him

in various capacities all his life

On the day I met Bob, he came

as a widower, with a group from church

to minister to my dying husband

in a nursing home in Livingston

He also ministered regularly

to patients undergoing chemo treatment

at Hackensack Medical Center

and for eight years

was a one-on-one volunteer

for a resident at a center for the

developmentally disabled

Bob has been a Gideon for years

distributing Bibles at schools

hospitals and wherever needed

He’s generous to people in need

and compassionate, particularly

to the downtrodden

Bob loves our congregation

(Beth Israel Worship Center)

as much as I. We sit side by side

and sing, worship and listen attentively

to the inspired teachings

of our pastor/rabbi, Jonathan Cahn

We enjoy fellowshipping

with the church members

and after each Sunday service

look forward to working

with our faithful little team

to count the collection money

After that, the two of us

usually go out to dinner

In the morning, Bob puts a CD in the Bose

and fills our home with worship music

Usually, it’s Les Morrison’s “Messianic Violin”

or Messianic vocals by Marty Goetz

or old-time hymns by George Beverly Shea

Other times he reads us a devotional message

from a book by Max Lucado

Every evening before dinner

Bob leads us in a prayer

for our family and friends

and those who ask us

to pray specifically on their behalf

He takes care of himself—

works out with Peter, his trainer

once a week and on his own, besides

He practices his swing at the

Passaic County Golf Course

and in summer, swims a lap or two

at the Totowa Pool, most days

Actually, I’d say that he’s

in darn good shape

for his 86 years

A few times a year

we get to go away

on a nice vacation

Life is good!

It’s a blessing for me

to be spending these latter years

with love and sweet contentment

happily yoked to this Godly man—

my beloved husband, Bob Pych

Maude Carolan Pych

The above poem is included in my 411-page memoir in poetry, "Wonderhoods." For information about ordering, please scroll to the end of this blog.

Just Love One Another

Here's an oldie from the back of the file drawer...

Image credit: jodiblackwood.com

SOME SAY...

Some say

only Catholics get to Heaven,

some say

Protestants have the key.

Some debate sprinkling and immersing,

Virgin birth, saints, the 144,000, the Great Tribulation,

while others argue

infallibility of the Pope, Purgatory, Baptism of the Holy Spirit,

or whether Bread of Communion

becomes Flesh (with a capital F),

or is partaken in remembrance.

Some say

read only the King James,

others, the Douay-Rheims,

others, the N.I.V.

Some say

pray in tongues,

while others say it’s of the devil.

Some say

pray silently, reverently

with folded hands and nodded head.

Others say

shout, leap, dance with timbrels

and raise arms high in praise.

Some say

it’s impossible to be Jewish

and believe Jesus is Messiah,

sitting Shiva for those who do.

I’ve worshipped in all your churches,

sang “O Salutaris” in a cathedral

with a Cross gleaming above its towering steeple,

“How Great Thou Art” in a stone hillside chapel,

“Oh Happy Day” in a store-front on Main,

and “The S’hma” in a Messianic synagogue

with David’s Star and the Lamb

up front by the Bimah.

I’ve read Father Girzone’s, “Joshua”,

said “Amen!” as a radio evangelist

implored listeners

to focus upon what unites,

not what divides,

but most of all

I’ve sensed

the One who knows hearts well,

whispering,

whispering ever so softly

into mine,

“Love,

just love

one another.”

Maude Carolan

Announcement:

My poet/friend, Rev. EJ Emerson

has just published her book,

"Psalmistry--Reflections of Praise"

It contains a psalm-a-day

that will encourage, enlighten, amuse, challenge & uplift readers.

And, EJ blessed my heart

by dedicating her wonderful book to the memory

of my deceased husband, Leo F. Carolan.

Her book is available at Amazon.com.