He is Risen...Alleluia!

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Happy Resurrection Day!

Alleluia!!!

Image credit: virtueonline.org

RISEN

It’s Holy Saturday

Dough is rising

on the kitchen counter

filling me with thoughts

of rising

helium balloons

set free

sunrise

over the Sea of Galilee

waking up

rising

soap bubbles

floating skyward

seagulls soaring

fireworks

booming and bursting

jet planes at take-off

rocket ships

with long trails of fire

zooming to the moon

O, but nothing

nowhere

and no one

has ever done it

or will

…like Jesus

Maude Carolan Pych

God Loves Us--John 3:16

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

The following is a poem that I wrote recently.

It's about John 3:16,

the Bible verse that has been called,

"The Gospel in a nutshell."

Image credit: Fine Art America

GOD’S UNFATHOMABLE LOVE

“For God so loved the world, that He gave His

only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him

shall not perish, but have eternal life.” John 3:16 NASB

For God—

The Majestic Almighty, Omnipotent, King of Kings

Ancient of Days, Elohim, Adonai

my beloved Abba Father

so loved—

with the bigness of His gracious agape heart

a love unfathomable, unconditional

and abounding in mercy

the world—

the whole wide world and everyone in it

in Israel, Jordan, Iran, Russia, Nigeria, China

in Ireland and Italy, where my ancestors came from

in HochHausen, Germany, where loved ones reside

where we’ve been on vacation, Aruba, and Bermuda

and all of us right here, in Wayne, New Jersey

that He gave His only begotten Son—

given to us, freely, our Father’s extraordinary gift of Yeshua/Jesus

His sinless Son, to save us from the punishment we deserve

for sins we have committed

that whoever believes in Him—

so all we need do to receive this wondrous gift

is believe God’s trustworthy Word

believe that Jesus was born into the world

and that He is our promised Savior

shall not perish—

because of Jesus’ sacrifice upon Calvary’s Tree

and because His Most Precious Blood atoned for all our sins

death has been swallowed up in victory!

but have eternal life—

because of Jesus’ miraculous Resurrection from death

we live because He lives

and will dwell with Him

in the Kingdom of Heaven

to enjoy unimaginable splendors

forever…forevermore

Praise the Lord!

Maude Carolan Pych

Remembering Good Fridays

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: latintimes.com

REMEMBERING GOOD FRIDAYS

When I was a young 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 I did to be silent and still

I was as fidgety, squirmy and irksome

as any healthy active kid would be

who had not yet grasped

the profound depth of what happened

that terrible good day when Jesus died

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 astonishing empty tomb

I’m reminded of the Hallelujah Hope

I have in Him—which is eternal

Grandma would be so pleased

Maude Carolan Pych

The Passover Lamb

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: natsab.com

THE PASSOVER LAMB

Abba went into the sheepfold to choose a spotless lamb,

as Moses gave instructions that he got from the I Am.

Our lamb, indeed, was spotless, so I named him Wooly Bright;

we brought him inside to live with us, morning, noon and night.

I ran my fingers through his coat and fed him from my hand,

I put fresh water in his trough; he’s the best lamb in the land!

Today he’ll be our sacrifice. Moses said this must be done.

He must die that I may live, for I’m a firstborn son.

We’ve been oppressed by slavery; Pharaoh will not let us go,

but God’s mighty arm will save us. We’ll watch His power flow.

Moses told us, take lamb’s blood, and brush it on the lintel

then we will be protected; it almost sounds too simple.

Tonight we will leave Egypt and journey far from home,

but I’ll remember Wooly Bright wherever I may roam.

Someday the world will see in this, God’s salvation plan;

God’s Son will be the sacrifice, the great Passover Lamb!

For as God will use blood of lambs to set His people free,

the precious Blood of Jesus will save sinners…you and me.

Maude Carolan Pych

Unleavened Bread

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Photo credit: holidays.net

EXTRAORDINARY MATZOH

It’s only ordinary unleavened bread

Ordinary matzoh

On an earthen plate

It probably came

From a supermarket shelf

A Manischewitz box

Ordinary matzoh

Blessed for Passover

Oh, but when I take it

And cradle it lovingly

In my hands

Break it and bless it

It is for me

Most Holy Bread

Good Friday Bread

Body of the Lamb that was slain

With my cup of Redemption

Communion Bread

Lechem without hametz

Without yeast of sin

Pierced

Striped

Bruised

Shrouded afikomen

Hidden

Then resurrected

With glory

I partake

Alleluia, alleluia

Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

Maude Carolan

This poem has been published in William W. Francis’ book, Celebrate the Feasts of The Lord. Crest Books.

Grafted In

Passover begins this week on Good Friday.

At my congregation, Beth Israel Worship Center, Wayne, NJ,

we observe both...

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

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 cantor’s

chanting of the Shema

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 HaShem

I’m not Jewish

except for my heart

which bears the cloven mark

of circumcision

and loves Yeshua,

the Jewish Messiah

Who was pierced

for my transgressions

Who shed

His precious Jewish Blood

for me

Maude Carolan

The above poem won an award a few years ago at the annual St. Catherine of Bologna Art, Photography & Poetry Exhibition in Ringwood, NJ.

The Dungeon

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

When I was in Israel
we went to see the dungeon
beneath the house of Caiaphas...

Photo credit: catholicpilgrimsinisrael.blogspot.com

Photo credit: pinterest.com

THE DUNGEON

Israel Pilgrimage—2006

There is a pit

beneath the House of Caiaphas

a once dark, dismal, terrifying hole

into which prisoners

were lowered by ropes

under their armpits

Our Lord Jesus likely

was brought here directly

from the Garden of Gethsemane

on the night He was betrayed by Judas

The scene seems less horrific today

than when I was here in 1986

Then, it was easier to imagine

a terrifying incarceration

of a prisoner, especially

an innocent prisoner, alone

amid ominous dampness and vermin

in the very bowels of the earth

The pit is located beneath a church—

The Church of Saint Peter of Gallicantu

(of the cock’s crow)

named for where in the courtyard

Peter denied knowing Jesus three times

It’s been spiffed-up—

It’s brighter. The descent, easier

It’s not nearly as dismal

but, back in eighty-six

as Wayne Monbleau read Psalm 22

in that detestable dungeon

…they pierced

my hands and my feet.

I can count all my bones…[1]

I closed my eyes, and literally

trembled…trembled…trembled

imagining how terribly Jesus suffered

to wash my sins away

Maude Carolan Pych

---

[1] Psalm 22:17-18 NASB

The Pieta

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: italianways.com

THE PIETA

After the earthquake

the peals of thunder

the flashes of lightning across the sky

After the curious crowds dispersed

Mary sat in the ominous dimness

upon a mound of earth

at the base of the Cross

holding the body

of her Son

She cradled Him

in the hollow of her lap

close to her bosom

as she had

when he was

her baby boy

Mary removed

thorns of mockery

that encircled His forehead

and tossed it to the side

Straining to see in the shadows

she carefully picked

fragments of thorn needles

still stuck in His lifeless flesh

although they couldn’t hurt Him

any longer

With her fingertips

she tenderly closed the lids

over His dark, vacant eyes

and smoothed

the disheveled, matted hair

…then she kissed Him

O, my beautiful Son…

Tears flowed

down her face onto His cheeks

mingling with dried blood

With the edge of her garment

she wiped some blood away

John came

and rested his hand

upon her trembling shoulder

He was now her son

She was now his mother

Mysteries

too deep to comprehend

swirled in her mind

like the flap and flutter

of wings and overshadowing

Son of the Most High

and David’s throne

like pregnant Elizabeth’s joy

when the baby leapt in her womb

and the Baptizer himself, when grown

proclaiming his younger cousin

“The Lamb of God, Who

takes away the sin of the world”

and Simeon’s prophesy

that Jesus would be

a Light of revelation

to the Gentiles and the glory

of the people of Israel

Where is the Light?

Where is the glory?

Where is the throne?

Overwhelmed by sorrow

so intense it stabbed her

deep, deep in her inner parts

Mary cried out in anguish

and rent her robe

Was this what old Simeon meant

long ago in the Temple

when he held Jesus in his arms

and said a sword would pierce

my very soul?

O my Son, my beautiful Son…

I cannot fathom the ways of God, but

I do know this cannot be the end

Maude Carolan Pych

Wonders in the Sky

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

I drove down Osborne Terrace yesterday evening

and was reminded of the amazing red sky

over Packanack Lake, four years ago...

Photo credit: redbubble.com

BLOOD SKY—

Good Friday 2014, Packanack Lake, New Jersey

“I will display wonders in the sky and on the earth, blood, fire, and columns of smoke. The sun will be turned into darkness and the moon into blood before the great and awesome day of the Lord comes.” Joel 2:30-31 NASB

The alarm went off at 3:00 a.m., Tuesday

We went outdoors to gaze at the sky

hoping to get a glimpse

of the first blood moon of the tetrad—

Passover, 2014

It was there, but we couldn’t see it

Dense clouds obscured our view

Blood moon or not, this week is crimson—

I’ve been thinking about blood in the Nile

blood on the lintels

death of the firstborn sons

I bought blood oranges in Fairway, yesterday

Had one for breakfast. It was sweet

Today is Good Friday—

I am meditating upon the atonement

the Cross, the death of my Savior

Now it’s evening—

I’m on my way to the Good Friday service

at the Jerusalem Center in Wayne

As I drive down Osborne Terrace

approaching Packanack Lake

the sky is incredible—amazing—red as blood

fiery red, red like I’ve never seen it before

As the setting sun shines on the still water

the lake mirrors the brilliant crimson firmament

and I can’t help thinking of old Moses

as he dipped his staff into the Nile river

At the Jerusalem Center, the dancers

fittingly extol the Lamb Who was slain, and

Jonathan speaks of the sun setting and rising—

endings and beginnings

and I feel God may be telling me something, or

am I so deeply aware of Him this holy week

that I see Him everywhere

and in every blessed thing

Maude Carolan Pych

Read the Whole Story...

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: East Asia School of Theology

I’VE READ THE END OF THE BOOK   

Twice I heard Tony Campolo deliver

his famous and rousing sermon

It’s Friday, but Sunday’s Comin’!

at the Great Auditorium in Ocean Grove

Tony drummed home the point

that everything may look bleak on Friday, but…

come Sunday…Sunday changes everything!

Now, I’m not thinking of just any dark and bleak Friday

I’m thinking about the original Good Friday—

thinking the only reason I can bear

to contemplate that good and terrible day

is because I know

a few days later there was

a mind-blowing, miraculous Sunday—

…Resurrection Sunday!

The disciples didn’t have

the advantage I have—

They didn’t understand

life after death

couldn’t comprehend

atonement for sin

just didn’t get it

that their teacher and friend, Jesus

could die upon a cross

for the sins of the world

They didn’t realize

they were in the middle of miracles

Didn’t know the future—

Sure, they may have read portions of the Scrolls

but they didn’t have the whole wonderful Book

                                                         

I do have the whole Book

I’ve read ahead

and studied the pages      

I know that what follows

the Good Friday story

is the victorious hope-giving

hallelujah happy ending

I know my sins are forgiven

know I’m going to live forever

Yes, I know what happened next

and that makes all the difference

Maude Carolan Pych

From "Hosanna!" to "Crucify Him!"

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: nebraskaenergyobserver.com


A brand new poem...

FROM THE PALMS TO THE CROSS

It’s Lent—

I’m sitting here meditating

upon that final week

wondering what happened to His followers

after Jesus entered Jerusalem

riding astride a donkey

as people spread their coats before Him

along the dusty road

Wondering about those followers

the ones who cut branches from palm trees

and waved them at Him in homage, proclaiming

Hosanna to the Son of David!

Hosanna in the highest!

He was their humble King

I’m sitting here wondering what happened

between then and days later

when Jesus stood before Pilate

amid a crowd of onlookers

persuasive chief priests and elders

and everyone began shouting

Crucify Him! Crucify Him!

Did they forget the taste of water

that He turned into wine?

Did they forget the healed lepers and the blind?

Did they forget Him preaching

to the multitudes, Blessed be the poor…

and that He fed thousands with a few loaves and fish

Did they forget He healed a pitiful demoniac

and the woman with an issue of blood

Could they have forgotten that he said to the dead girl,

Talitha kum, and she sprang right up and walked

And Lazarus? Could they possibly have forgotten

that Jesus called His friend out of the tomb

and Lazarus emerged, grave clothes coiled

around his body…after three days!

I’m still sitting here wondering about

how quickly they turned

from their hosannas

to calling for His death

Wasn’t there one clear-headed believer

one unable to be swayed by anyone witness

one unshakable faithful-unto-death follower

to boldly shout out in protest…

No!

No. There wasn’t

Not even one

Maude Carolan Pych