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Poetry by Ellen Stephen, OSH |
In the beginning was the Word
and the Word spoke
to the Imagination
before the Big Bang
I AM!
the Spirit sang
and the first day broke
like a new born bird,
and the Lamb
from the foundation
before below, beside, above
made love.
April, 2008
by Ellen Stephen, OSH
I. GETHSEMANEWhere is the meaning in this blood I sweat?
What is this awful vigil that I keep?
The crowds, these friends, have they not got it yet?
I called them, fed them, taught them. Now they sleep.
This intimate desertion pierces deep,
deeper than any pain of flesh and bone;
O, God of love, for love betrayed I weep—
is this world’s agony mine to bear alone?
Judas is wakeful; he exploits the night—
he who broke bread with me, and called me friend.
Do none, of all you gave me, see the light?
My God—shall all be darkness at the end?
Here in this dark, Abba, behold your son.
Knowing not what I will, your will be done.
II. FROM GETHSEMANE TO PILATE
Caiaphas, High Priest, elders, scribes and Jews—
O my people, what have I done to you?
How have I longed that you should glean good news,
feed on my manna, bread that indeed is true.
But if I speak now, would I not speak to stone?
Would you not crush my words with your distrust?
Silence is all I now can call my own;
your words are like adamant, yet they shall be dust.
And now to Pilate, a Roman aqueduct
through which may channel thoughts both foul and clear.
Poor Pontius! Rhetoric cannot construct
love’s truth in one who has no heart to hear.
My reign is truth, truth I have not denied.
Your washed hands send me to be crucified.
III. JESUS TAKES UP HIS CROSS
We sing “O Tree of beauty,” Lord, and yet—
how many ages passed before we knew
the cross as beauty! Let me not forget
the cost of the reality to you.
Terrible, not to know until the last
which way the crowds would swing—rage or belief;
those who had cried “Hosanna!” how could they cast
their lots with power and a murderous thief?
After that night of being betrayed and cursed,
flogged, mocked and scorned—how could you not believe
maddened humanity had done its worst?
Surely justice and truth would send reprieve.
No. The great crossbeam has your shoulders bent.
You take the first step of the long ascent.
IV. FALLING
What hairy, prehistoric hominid
first woke to moral choice—of self or other,
and, rather than choosing not to murder, did;
abusing the new freedom to kill a brother?
O happy fault? An image hard to bear
for what exacted such a grievous price!
Dear Jesus, can I offer any prayer—
can any human gratitude suffice?
A woman, slapped in childhood, slaps her child;
it is not the first time, nor will it be the last.
Our fallen race cries to be reconciled;
redeemed from passing on our fallen past.
Have mercy, Lord, who fell three times for me
who fall each day into iniquity.
V. LAST WORDS
Forgive me, for I know not what I do?
Can that excuse me after all you taught?
I read these crucial words and kneel to you:
I know—and still I do not as I ought.
“Woman, behold your son,” and yet her son
is dying before her eyes a hideous death.
John will be loved, but Jesus is the one
to offer new life with his dying breath.
At last, “It is finished!” you from your torment cried.
What is finished? Your sinless life, but not my sin.
Here in the place of my skull, self-love and pride
still strive for mastery, and still may win.
The skies are black with chaos, and earth quakes;
my mind in chaos reels, my hard heart breaks.
VI. THE RISEN JESUS APPEARS TO HIS MOTHER
“O, Jesus, dear one, how have you come to me?
My mind is dazed—and only my spirit knows.
As at the beginning I ask ‘How can this be?’
yet, seeing you, my gladness overflows.”
“Dear Mother, I would not leave you in your grief—
I knew your every dread, and every tear;
Like mine, your questions come from deep belief,
but now all that is past, and I am here!
You held to trust when none could understand;
when others stumbled, you still walked in grace;
now, with this wounded and yet glorious hand
I bless the radiant beauty of your face.
I must go now, most lovely of all mothers—
both of us must go, and console the others.”
VII. MAGDALENE AT THE TOMB
Hope against hope—why not say hope for hope?
It was you who planted hope’s seed in my breast;
yet in that pre-dawn I could only grope
for what to do—which spices would serve best.
The mind is born to loss and slow to learn
the safety of admitting happiness.
My miracle in the garden was to turn
and recognize my name, and answer “yes!”
Oh, hard to learn the love that does not cling!
A freedom that seems harder than life to give;
yet given, it is the key to everything.
As you said, life must be lost that we may live.
My loss and my love embrace me now in prayer;
you left me, and now you meet me everywhere.
VIII. THE DISCIPLES AFTER THE RESURRECTION
It somehow encourages me to know
that in the disciples’ days, just as in mine,
good minds were baffled, and brave hearts were slow
to accept the awesome power of the divine.
Who could blame them? Their friend had died; the tomb was sealed.
The God they had known was hidden and austere.
Jesus, now risen, chose to be revealed,
named and embodied, touchable and dear!
Of course, at first they dared not recognize
that gift too wonderful for mind to frame.
At the tomb, on the road, by the sea, they rubbed their eyes
till love dawned clear, and set their hearts aflame.
They broke bread and prayed as many and as one
called to a new life in the spring’s new sun.
IX. THE ASCENSION
Meditation on God’s gift of God’s Self to me
Once when it seemed far, far too good to be true,
I asked a wise man: “Is there a God in heaven?
You seem so sure—how did you know you knew?”
He answered: “I have seen sins be forgiven.”
Once again, when the gift seemed too much glory,
and the person of Jesus too awesome and too dear,
I asked my literate self: ”Who wrote this story?
For lo! There is a greater than Hamlet here!”
And John, who lay near Jesus at the meal,
who shared such human closeness, was it he,
who, perhaps, dazzled, came to kneel
before the Lamb radiant in majesty?
Words fail. Thoughts fail. All images are too small.
O God, receive my poor but grateful all.