Welcome to my blog. Grams is the name my first grandson gave me and it's stuck. My great loves: My husband, our nine children, twenty five grandchildren, four great grandchildren, my Faith, writing- prose and poetry - and travelling , especially in our camper. My posts are eclectic and I appreciate getting comments. So, please feel free to comment or offer advice on what you would like to to see more of.
Friday, March 25, 2016
Good Friday
25th March 2016
Morning everyone.
Doing the "Walk of Witness" this morning with Churches Together in our town, the figure of Simon of Cyrene struck me a little more deeply than before. He was minding his own business , probably wondering , as he'd just come in from the country , what all the fuss was about, when he was man handled and given the task of helping Jesus carry the cross. Of course, being in an occupied country, you didn't argue when a soldier gave an order, so he had no choice but to comply.
From those thoughts I've just written three acrostics around the theme of Good Friday:
Good Friday with Simon
Grabbing my arm, causing surprise, the soldier drags me
Over to where He has fallen, under wood - heavy, crushing,
Onto the ground, into the dirt, blood drips, while his lips
Don't utter a word - and the frenzied mob jeers.
From shattered shoulders I ease the cross away - He stands
Right there in front of me - eyes meeting, locking.
I look at Him - wretched, sore, in pain -and I
Decide, you know what, you don't deserve this torment
And for my part, I'll help as much as I can
Yes, although inconvenient, I will assist this man
Good Friday - Onlooker
Getting jostled , near the back , it's difficult to see what's happening
On the road up ahead. It looks like the soldiers
Ordered some man to help the man named Jesus to carry His cross.
Doesn't pay to get to close, you think.
From this distance it's hard to know what's
Really going on. You can be a spectator without
Intervening in the proceedings, just observing the
Deliberations as if they are a show, a performance - indifferent to
Any truth that close contact might show you . You, showing no compassion,
You can go home and have your tea and tell tales about what you saw.
Gaping wounds and sores, Lord, blood
On your body, nails through your hands,
On your head a crown of thorns,
Deeming you to be a king
From up there looking down on us, you
Reach to the depths of our hearts and we know
In a clearer way now the love you have for us, that
Deep love that holds nothing back and is
Always ready to give everything for us, who are indifernt, unloving
Yet, Lord, we look up at you and want our hearts to change.
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Much to contemplate here, Maz. Very timely and appreciated!
ReplyDeleteThank you Walter. Happy writing
ReplyDelete