Told me to care for your Mother
A sad will and testament this
And she holding up like a champion
No soft words, no counsel, no kiss.
And I standing stunned like a youngster
And you hanging naked and shamed
And priests letting out foulest venom
They blaspheme, they mock and defame.
How could Gospel challenge evoke this?
You spoke simple comfort and rest
You healed all the sick and the lonely
Your stories of Heaven the best.
But something now strangely speaks victory
And mercy for those with no light
Yes Lord I will cherish your Mother
God grant that I comfort her right.
And memories we’ll share of the good times
When you were the balm of the crowd
When we held you forth as Messiah
And missions of help made us proud.
She comes at dawn
No clear idea
How to bless
Of her Teacher.
This was to be the day
When death was bested.
He had promised
They had hardly heard.
The stress of things gone wrong
Had clouded all thinking
Mercy had been
Made to appear
Haughty robed ones
Desperate for His blood.
Even the crowd
“His blood be on us
And on our children”.
Sun is coming up.
On that branch
Sets the tone.
The stone is rolled away.
Probably more pain
And inside no seeming
Some gravesclothes neatly piled
But where the Teacher’s body?
Outside He waits
Suggestions of a
She had always been
So eager for His clarity
Now first witness exultant
To the Son Rising.
And He alive.