Music of Angels


John’s Charge


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.





Final Word



She comes at dawn
No clear idea
How to bless
Battered remains
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
Very wrong
Had clouded all thinking
All hope.
Mercy had been
Made to appear
Haughty robed ones
Desperate for His blood.
Even the crowd
Had parroted,
“His blood be on us
And on our children”.
Sun is coming up.
Mourning dove
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
Dawning smile.
She had always been
So eager for His clarity
His comfort.
Precious Mary.
Now first witness exultant
To the Son Rising.

And He alive.

For evermore.