Easter

Easter 2014

As we stand at the foot of his cross

His body broken, defiled

We are all aware of this terrible loss

That Jesus our Saviour has died


A man with a beautiful nature

A heart that was gentle and kind

Sent to give us hope for the future

Sent here with his children in mind


But wait, we are told he will keep his word

He will arise from the stone cold tomb

And true to his word, he arose on the third

Our sins are forgiven,

we will join him in heaven

And his love has banished the gloom.

Sheila Orpet April 2014           

 

 

Good Friday

 

His face is fearful, blood on the brow,

his back criss-crossed with whip-wheals.

He is led to execution

accompanied by criminals.

 

Where now the laurel wreath, the diadem?

Where the kingdom he came to rule?

Once-adoring subjects bay for his blood,

preferring a thug, a murderer.

 

The body is stripped and placed on the frame.

Iron nails are driven home

Four beats in a bar:

Bang!    Bang!    Bang!    Bang!

 

The right wrist first, then the left.

Finally the ankles, paired together.

Martellato e agitato

Clang!    Clang!    Clang!    Clang!

 

The cross is raised,

and the body suspended.

Its weight drags on his wrists,

ligaments taking the strain.

 

Intense pain as muscles cramp,

their endeavour, fruitless – the effort, too great.

Tingling and numbness in both hands,

median nerves pin-damaged.

 

Many insults draw him deathward –

not just the jeers of the throng.

“He saved others:

Let him save himself!”

 

Sweltering sun – sweat pouring.

Fluid, ions – balance losing,

Heart, kidneys – slowly failing.

Blood flow – gently ebbing,

 

Chest collapsing – breaths reducing.

Organs – declining.

Consciousness – clouding.

Tempo morendo

Richard Y Ball

 

 

Was it worth it?

 

He gave up everything, you know,

that man hanging from the tree;

as he looks down does he see

the mess we’ve made of it,

you and me?

 

He did it willingly

but oh the pain he suffered, was it worth it?

We skip by without a glance

not caring about the price he paid for

you and me.

 

Is the world a better place?

What did we learn from his plan?

Did his example make a difference?

Do we think at all about that man -

you and me?

 

On Easter Sunday we will munch our chocolate eggs

ignoring the pain of Friday,

Good Friday,

when the price was paid

for you and me.

Shirleyanne Seel 13th March 2013  

 

Low Saturday looks forward 

A womb
pregnant with precious cargo,

the tomb
quietly awaits the morrow,

for whom
it will deliver new life.

Richard Y Ball