Friday, May 19, 2006

From Darkness, Light 

Who looking would have expected hope to be born
that night of agonizing prayer under the olives,
sweat like blood falling in the spring moon light,
and a will that said not mine but yours.

Hope seemed to flee
when asking for the the price of a cheap slave
one of his own offered to make fellowship's kiss
turn into a betrayal,
backed by guards and swords and hate.

Did His followers hope against hope
that morning during an unjust trial,
where He stood, whipped and bloody,
a sacrifice of one for the many,
while a cynical judge gave Him up to prevent a riot
and a bad report back home.

Did any know that hope, while He in the grip of torture,
gave His back to the scourge,
His hands to the nails,
His body to the scorn,
hung high for all who came into the city to see,
He who gave up all, a perfect sacrifice,
as the temple veil was torn.

Hope glimmered in fear and amazement, though
as women crept out at dawn
to find a rolled-away stone
an empty tomb,
a discarded shroud,
a rolled-up napkin,
a missing body.

Hope spilled into concrete reality
as a weeping woman looked up
at the person who spoke her name.

coming down from Heaven,
the unexpected gift
to an undeserving world.

Susan E. Stone, 2006

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All Glory to Thee 

O Lord of my life and Lord of my peace,
whose love is a fountain that never will cease,
and there in those waters my soul finds release,
O Jesus my Lord, all glory to thee!

O Lord of my life, and Lord of my pain,
when the darkness is deep and my tears fall like rain,
your hand reaches out and heals me again,
O Jesus my Lord, all glory to thee!

O Lord of my life, and Lord of my hope,
When I tumble and fall on life's slippery slope
Your arms wrap me around me like the strongest of rope,
O Jesus my Lord, all glory to thee!

O Lord of my life, and Lord of my day
O be with me Lord each step of the way
Until I reach that home where I long to stay,
O Jesus my Lord, all glory to thee!

Susan E. Stone, 2006

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Monday, May 15, 2006

The Mocking 

Once they mocked Him with a crown of twisted thorns,
the soldiers there,
a game to amuse themselves
while they passed the time,
to prove how secure they were in this foreign land
how much stronger,
how much in control.
No threat, He,
beaten, bloody, bound,
an interesting toy
to play with in the morning.

Now they mock Him
with a crown of twisted words,
those who choose to despise Him,
soliders in a different war,
yet still in need of games to amuse themselves with,
to prove how much wiser, stronger, smarter they are,
how they can turn their back on his open hand,
They look for ways to push the crown in deeper,
to add their spittle to His face,
other rags for Him to wear
so they can rip them off in mockery,
using Him as an interesting toy
to prove their independence.

And yet, despite of all their lies,
the tomb is still empty,
and the witness of God's mercy still lives,
passing from heart to heart,
life to life,
believer to believer.


Susan E. Stone, 2006

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