This year for Lent I committed to writing a sonnet each day. I won’t burden you with all forty, but at the risk of being presumptuous, I thought I’d post the seven sonnets for Holy Week in the hope that they might be helpful somehow. The stories are true, folks. He is risen, indeed.
PALM SUNDAY
“Hosanna!” We cried, and we waved our palms,
Standing outside the church on Palm Sunday.
We sang songs of praise, read lessons and Psalms,
And then came the Gospel reading. The way
It usually happens, the celebrant
Follows the cross and Bible down the aisle,
And we all turn to face them. The moment
Reminds us of the Incarnation while
The scripture is read. God did become flesh.
He dwelt among us. But it’s Holy Week,
And things change so that we feel it all fresh,
The arrest, trial, crucifixion: we shriek,
“Crucify him! Crucify him! Release
Barabbas!” How quickly hosannas cease.
MONDAY
Passover was at hand. It was a time
Of remembering. Once, they were enslaved
To Egypt, but God freed them. Who will climb
The mountain now? The holy law engraved
On stone, written by the finger of God,
Was delivered, and it said, “Remember.”
Did they? Did they remember the lamb’s blood
While they sold pigeons in the temple for
Caesar’s coins? Jesus, upturn my table.
Cleanse your temple. Be zealous for my heart,
Because it belongs to you. Unable
but willing, I beg you to take apart
Each stone and rebuild in me a new home.
Make a temple out of this catacomb.
TUESDAY
I’ve never seen a better place for spring
Than here in Tennessee. The dogwoods spread
And blossom in the shadows by the stream,
Like cotton balls above the riverbed.
And never have I seen a richer blend
Of greens! So many hues illuminate
Both underfoot and and overhead, suspend
The verdant canopy with heaven’s weight,
And anchor earth with heaven’s airy hue,
That I can scarce discern if this is dream
Or merely God’s abundance breaking through
With pure delight in what he made, agleam
With grace in this, the cursed and crooked earth.
You resurrect the world with every birth.
WEDNESDAY
Tenebrae. A darkening. Poems read,
Stories told, candles extinguished, songs sung.
I sat all night in the dark with my head
Full of conflicting thoughts. Some of them stung,
Some were just mild distractions, enough that
I considered slipping out to go home.
But of all the places I could have sat,
In that room as dark as stone-sealed tomb,
I gleaned beside me a good friend’s shadow.
His eyes were shut the whole time. I even
Changed positions once and bumped his elbow,
But he didn’t flinch. How could I know then
What I know now, how his heart was broken?
The dark silence was the solace spoken.
MAUNDY THURSDAY
“Love as I have loved,” you said, washing feet.
A foot is a humble thing, the lowest
Part of the body, where earth and flesh meet.
We put them up when we just want to rest,
And our odd little toes, smelly digits,
Callused and caked with dirt, don’t make the best
First impression, even if one sees fit
To put his best foot forward. But you blessed
Your friends from head to foot, washing away
The day’s accumulation of travel,
Speaking into existence a new way
To love: love by exalting the humble
By serving the servant, by kneeling down
Before your subjects, giving us your crown.
GOOD FRIDAY
After this, Jesus, knowing all was done,
Said, “I thirst.” They raised a sponge of sour wine
On a hyssop branch, gave it to the Son,
Holding it to the mouth of the True Vine.
He drank. “It is finished,” he said at last,
Then he bowed his head and gave up the ghost.
John, as an old man, looked into the past
And wrote his gospel. I wonder what cost
Came with remembering that stormcloud day?
Did he shudder as he wrote out each word?
What would it be like to kneel down and pray
To the God whose grand stories you have heard
Since boyhood, and carry the memory
Of him hanging there, bleeding on the tree?
HOLY SATURDAY
Joseph came and took him down from the hill.
Nicodemus also came, with aloe
And myrrh—seventy-five pounds, just to kill
The death smell—and they wrapped him head to toe
In linen, which is how it was done then.
They needed to bury him somewhere soon.
Not far from Golgotha was a garden,
And in that garden was an open tomb
Where no body had yet been laid to rest.
The Jewish Day of Preparation meant
There were laws these righteous men did their best
To keep, so they, of all the people, went
To Pilate, made it happen. Who can tell
If they loved God? They loved their neighbor well.
RESURRECTION SUNDAY
Be praised, Lord Jesus, humble conqueror!
Thy battered body’s wounds were joyful streams,
Thy furrowed flesh the soil of the gardener,
Thy bones unbroken, strong as temple beams.
But none could know when laid they in the ground
The sin-wrecked Son of God whose heart was dead,
Whose stiffened corpse was cold and linen bound,
As day-death turned the firmament to red
And decay began its work on each cell,
As decay has done since hard fell the curse,
What glory was to gleam in that dark hell
When death’s decay at once was in reverse.
Be praised, Lord Jesus! Morning then revealed
Thy beating heart! Today, my heart is healed.
As a singer-songwriter and recording artist, Andrew has released more than ten records over the past fifteen years. His music has earned him a reputation for writing songs that connect with his listeners in ways equally powerful, poetic, and intimate. He has also followed his gifts into the realm of publishing. His books include the four volumes of the award-winning Wingfeather Saga.
8 Comments
mayajt
Amazing! Andrew, I love your work and I cannot stop praising God for putting it in my life. I love music and am a writer and poet as well, and it’s great to see someone who loves all the things I do and is successful at them. I think we will meet sometime in this life, since I do my best to show up at every event you’re at near me, but if not, than I’ll see you in the next! Thanks for the message of hope for one of my favorite times in the church year.
MacKenzie Branch
@mackenziepaulineWhat a blessing – thank you for sharing, and helping me turn my mind to Him again this morning.
Aaron Wolcott
Thank you for sharing these – they are beautifully written. I have tried to write haikus over lent the past few years and keeping up with it has been difficult – can’t imagine writing a sonnet each day for 40 days!
Kathleen Krueger
The story of the men who took him down from the cross has always been one that has intrigued me, so, Holy Saturday grabbed my attention. Yes, they loved their neighbor well. Did you know that the name of Joseph of Arimathea is one of the few names that is mentioned in all four Gospels? I believe this indicates that he became and remained a part of the early Christian community.
Gllen
To my Rabbit Room community;
This Easter has been a very different one for me. One full of loss, grief, and sorrow. But one also full of the hope of Christ.
My Mom went to be with Jesus this Easter. It was not completely unexpected, but it was sudden and hard.
My Mom had Parkinson’s disease for 27 years. She turned 86 this past February. She never complained but carried on one day at a time, doing what she could. Loving people and trusting her Lord.
The funeral was this past Monday – Easter Monday. It was a very special time of fitting tribute to a woman who loved much and served God faithfully over many years.
My Mom passing at Easter, and my brother passing 3 years ago on Christmas Eve (from cancer) has added new layers to these two significant times of the Christian year. (And Good Friday was my brother’s birthday!)
Andrew – like you, I too spent time writing out pieces of my heart this year during Lent. I wrote prayers – simple, honest, and yearning prayers shaped from the currents of my life.
It was a necessary and meaningful process to attend to. (I intend to put them into a handbound book in the near future).
A scripture that has meant much to me this Easter is
1 Thess. 4:14 – “Since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus…”
———————
I read the following poem on Easter Monday at my Mom’s funeral service.
I was unsure if I’d be able to get through it, but gratefully did.
(I had written it a few years ago after seeing the effects/progression of the disease in my Mom’s life during a family birthday party, and put my response into written form when I got home that night).
parkinson’s
“thou shalt not dance…”
this was an unspoken
or seldom mentioned creed
of my mother’s formative
and growing up years.
she was careful
to obey its statutes
and limitations
and never questioned
its authority.
but – now
my mother’s body
is carrying her away
in a dance
all its own.
without her permission,
without her assent,
she is being led
into waltzes, pirouettes,
gyrations, and overtly
expressive movements –
caught by forces beyond her will,
or control,
and made to dance.
she cannot say No.
she cannot decline.
she cannot resist these
unwelcome intrusive
advances.
I am not making light
of this,
or mocking
in any way –
for it tears me open
to watch
this unstemmable tide –
this cloying shadow –
overflow, overwhelm,
and over-run
my mother’s body,
increment by irreversible
increment.
I know that one day
it will swallow her whole.
and – yet
my mother has learned,
and also has determined,
to live all her days
unfazed and unintimidated
by this disease
which is shaking her
from the inside out.
her hands, her arms,
her fingers,
move often
by gestures written
upon her heart.
these are pure
movements
of love,
choreographed by
One who has
betrothed her to
Himself.
Christ it is
who is present
in these little steps
she takes each day –
baking muffins
to carefully wrap and
give away.
knitting colourful
patterned shawls
for little girls
she knows and loves.
or small square cloths
of yarn for washing
dishes.
her mouth forms prayers
for many people,
many places,
many needs.
her head bowed
in reverence,
petition, trust.
her eyes
taking in the
precious words of
scripture.
her ears
attentive and quiet,
always ready
for careful listening.
her legs are now
recalcitrant
and unpredictable –
they buckle
and stall,
and must seem sometimes
like heavy pillars
of stone.
my mother’s whole
body is under siege.
a trembling battle has usurped
and taken it hostage –
her earthly tent is
being beaten and
battered by the wind
of life’s tumultuous rain.
but.
her real life is hidden
within
this faltering vessel of
fractured clay.
that which devours her body,
will never devour
her soul.
MacKenzie Branch
@mackenziepaulineWhat a beautiful tribute to your mother, Gllen. I am sorry for your loss, but rejoice in the comfort Christ brings.
Your poem reminds me of something – I recently met a family that had lost their father following a long and difficult bout with Alzheimer’s. He had been a pastor for many years. One of the children remarked that they wondered if his Alzheimer’s was a blessing, in a way, because of how heavy a burden of love and concern he had carried for the people through his years in the ministry. Perhaps he was able to spend the remainder of his time here on earth resting in the peace of the Lord.
Gllen
Thanks mackenzie pauline.
I have thought recently about what you mentioned as well. Those who are faithful within the Body of Christ – to love, serve, and care for those under or within their care. Those with huge hearts that break often with the losses, struggles, and difficulties of brothers & sisters in their community.
It’s another example for me of sehnsucht – the longing for wholeness, completeness – the faithful pilgrimage in the shadows & the dark, as we wait with “passionate patience” for the coming light – for Christ himself, our hope and our glory.
I’m thankful for the Rabbit Room community that is a place to remember this, and to be encouraged and strengthened to keep on in the way of Jesus. Not being defined by success, as this world so heavily coerces us to think, but rather, to be urged on to faithfulness, no matter what the circumstances or the weather of our lives.
May we all grow into this – more deeply, and together.
Gllen
ANDREW,
Thank you for these. I was not able to take them in properly last week. I have been rereading them again.
“Wednesday” – with it’s darkness & loss. Yet with attentiveness to friends also in need, and close by.
And “Maundy Thursday” – with it’s glimpse of a new kind of love with which we are so unfamiliar and can find so difficult to comprehend, let alone live.
These two sonnets have been a blessing to me today.
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