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Poems

And darkness covered the land…

by Jessica on April 22, 2011

in Easter,Lent

Seven weeks the lights burn;

as the sun rises and sets the darkness grows,

just as sin grows in hearts that do not abide,

just as sin grew in me.

Darkness covers the land,

as darkness once covered my heart.

In the absence of Light,

we scramble to find the way.

For a brief moment in the history of time,

the dark won.

The Light in which we now abide ceased.

The payment made as darkness covered the land.

Sorrow-filled hearts wait, hope snuffed out.

Just as we wait.

 

 

What was interesting about taking these pictures was how the camera automatically tried to adjust the darkness, pulling light from other sources, opening and closing slowly with a loud click in the darkness. How even to see the truth that the snuffed out candles said, it couldn’t. Not without some source of light.

Sin is darkness that covers the land of our hearts, without the light Jesus brings we can’t see the truth. We don’t even know where to begin without his grace shedding light on our dark path.

In darkness we waited until Jesus came, torch in hand telling us, “This is the way, walk in it.”

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Tagged as: Easter, Lent, Poems

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This is Christ Crucified

by Jessica on April 2, 2010

in Easter,Lent

photo credit

Originally published April 6, 2009

“For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that through He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, so that you through His poverty might become rich” (2 Cor. 8:9). What is Christ’s poverty, but an exclamation of His love? And, oh how we refuse it so…denying the pain afforded to him wanting little to do with the actual Cross.

Suffering? What’s that? Give me joy unspeakable?
Pain, embarrassment, ridicule?
Those are not for me,
I bear no Cross except the one I choose,
and splinters I shall not see.
Polish it off, show me its shine
Oh! What a glory that will be!
To ascend upon Calvary sturdy
and primed is a fate I’ll gladly see.
Crowds alongside cheering me on as
I walk to the hill with the skull.

But what do I find when I arrive there at last?
A Savior who looks none like me.

Oh Lord, what have I done?
As you hang bruised and battered
I barely recognize the face that I see, but it is You, I know,
none the less hanging there on Calvary.
The soldiers they stab You as the crowd cheers them on
As I stand and ponder, “Oh, Lord what have I done?”

I’ve been a scorner, mocking in shame dressed in robes of victory,
knowing none of Your pain.
How could I have missed it?
You did this just for me,
as I stand clothed in victory.
My pride is the searing pain
in Your chest.
My ignorance is the blood
dripping on Your head.
My sin as apparent as the bruises
on Your face.
How could I have missed that?
I sought for a glory,
a Christ that was whole.
I sought for victory
over the sin that I know.
I sought for a Savior
that could conquer anything.
I sought for a Master
like none would know.

And here I am at the hill with a skull
Faced with a Calvary I barely know
Bruised and battered,
Torn and beaten,
Naked and bloody,
Where is the Christ that I thought I knew?

Hanging there, hanging there is my Savior my Lord
The One who has saved me and condemns me no more.
Hanging there, hanging there is the Victor of Life,
Dying to pay my redemption price.
Hanging there, hanging there is the Master of all
submitting to those who have come from the fall.
Hanging there, hanging there is the glory of Christ–
Risen not yet,
this is Christ crucified.

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Tagged as: Easter, Lent, Poems, salvation

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Journey of the Magi

by Jessica on December 12, 2009

in Christmas

photo by JoetheLion

photo by JoetheLion

I first discovered this poem by T.S. Eliot in my British Lit class in college. It’s another Christmas poem that’s stayed with me. The final stanza, I think, is the best.

A cold coming we had of it,

Just the worst time of the year

For a journey, and such a long journey:

The ways deep and the weather sharp,

The very dead of winter.

And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,

Lying down in the melting snow.

There were times when we regretted

The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,

And the silken girls bringing sherbet.

Then the camel men cursing and grumbling

And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,

And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,

And the cities dirty and the towns unfriendly

And the villages dirty and charging high prices:

A hard time we had of it.

At the end we preferred to travel all night,

Sleeping in snatches,

With the voices singing in our ears, saying

That this was all folly.



Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,


Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;


With a running stream and a water mill beating the darkness,


And three trees on the low sky,


And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.


Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,


Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,


And feet kicking the empty wineskins.


But there was no information, and so we continued


And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon


Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.



All this was a long time ago, I remember,


And I would do it again, but set down


This set down


This: were we led all that way for


Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,


We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,


But had thought they were different; this Birth was


Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.


We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,


But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,


With an alien people clutching their gods.


I should be glad of another death.




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Tagged as:
						Advent, 
						Christmas, 
						Journey of the Magi, 
						Poems, 
						T.S. Eliot
					


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