Monday, May 4, 2009

Mary at the Cross
by Kristen Inman

Leaning against the rough wood
anguish turns to numbness.
Thoughts flow in and out unbidden - and unchecked.

The angel had said, “fear not” but he also had said more,
words start to align themselves with the recent tragedy,
“He shall be great….He shall reign….
Of His Kingdom there shall be no end.”
The ache of the spear Simon spoke of
still burning in her side.

The oppressive darkness juxtaposes with
the memory of a clear crisp night.
Secluded comfortably in dry straw
leaning into husband’s arms -
neither daring to take eyes off the
precious gift delivered just hours before.
Born in the place where many lambs have birthed
to be sold as sacrifices for the sins of others.

Mourners disperse empty hearted.
Stumbling hopeless down the hill -
down to find solace and comfort in loved ones.
The clouds release and join tears
with those whose tears are running dry.
Cool cleansing water showers His matted
and blood soaked hair, rinsing it clean.
Pure water running red from his bruised and broken flesh.
Cana – the first miracle He performed.
Remembered feelings of wonder as her son
changed water to wine, red wine of celebration.
But what to celebrate now?

A gentle hand, shaking still, helps to stand,
“come mother”
Would legs move? Would lungs breathe without misery
being inhaled? Would eyes see light?
John steadies, leads, and hums softly a psalm.

Restless sleep prevails and allows a
reminiscence of a youthful Jesus…
A familiar realization - He is missing!
Harried searches among the clan reveal
nothing, and panic barely contained
spurs a swift pace back to Jerusalem.
A mom’s thoughts wrap around the
well being of her son- Has he eaten?
Where did he sleep? Is he worried, lost, or scared?
Three days, three days of searching!
And lo, there he is
boldly teaching scholars truth.
Always about His Father’s business.

Three days pass.
This time the searching is inward.
Piecing life’s events together to find
a truth that will heal the fractured heart.
Surrounded by the disciples in the upper room-
listening to the balm of hymns and prayers
from His beloved friends.
A quickening fills the emptiness like
the light that shown in the empty tomb just days before.
He has returned, knowledge spoken to heart
before the testimony of the eyes.
Adored in white- pure - clean,
only the nail prints mar the perfect visage.
He is risen, her baby, her son, her Savior.
I finished this yesterday-
I may use it in an upcoming talk, so sorry for those who get to read/hear it twice!
Please comment, I need honest critiques! You are my guinea pigs- maybe someday I'll try to publish some poetry.

1 comment:

Erika said...

That was beautiful Kristie. I got chills...seriously. You've given a wonderful view of what Mary may have been feeling...making it easy for the ready to feel her pain and then, in the end, her joy. Great job!



Real cool guy!


Here is beauty!


Hunky boy!


Green eyed goddess


Perfect in every way


Princess angel girl


Nobody is more loved