One summer eve in Galilee
I stood before my open door;
To me it seemed just one more night--
Like all the others gone before.
Someone would come and, passing by,
Would hear the tinkling of the bells,
Would see the garish harlot's robe
And painted eyes beneath my veil.
Someone, a man like all the rest--
It did not matter much to me--
A nobleman, Samaritan,
A Roman or a Pharisee,
Someone would pause and with one glance
Strip me again of maiden pride,
And leaving, later, never know
The shame and shattered dreams I hide.
O, he would think me very gay;
He would not see my hollow heart
Nor hear me curse him for his pay.
T was then I saw a band of men
Approaching down the narrow road;
There should be one among that crowd
Who wants the favors I bestow.
Kind eyes met mine, and with one look,
He saw what others could not see;
He saw the hunger of my soul,
My loneliness and misery.
I only know that since that day
I live to walk along with Him.
His look of love has changed my life;
I need not sell my love again.
Tonight He sups at Simon's house__
All day the dusty paths we roamed;
But, still he waits, unwashed, unkissed;
Small courtesies no one has shown.
My love for Him! It rolls and swells
Till from His side I cannot stay;
I'll wash His feet with tears of love
And with my hair wipe them away.
Dance a little dance!
Christ is alive! Easter’s here!
Shed some joyful tears!
The True Meaning of Easter!
The true meaning of
the Easter story,
Is God’s Son came down
to Earth from glory.
Jesus really does
love you and me.
He was born to die
that you might be free.
For 33 years, he lived
among sinful men.
Then one day was to be
an atonement for our sin.
He who was born of the
virgin Mary’s womb.
Was to one day rise again
from an empty tomb.
So many people today have
gotten into a bad habit,
of replacing Jesus
with the bunny rabbit.
So please reach out to others
and let them know,
Of the lover and redeemer
of their soul.
The true meaning of Easter
must forever be said.
Of God’s son who died,
but arose from the dead!
By Jim Pemberton
I wonder what the people thought
Who did not know the prisoner's name;
So many men had staggered by
In public solitude and shame,
What was He more than other men
Who'd walked outside the walls to die,
And those with tears who followed Him--
Do not most dead leave some who cry?
I wonder what the children thought,
Who just a few short days before
Had waved palm branches in the street,
Crying, "Hosanna, to the Lord!"
Why was the kindest man they knew,
Who understood their ways and needs,
Bearing a cross through Jerusalem
Like those who did unrighteous deeds.
I wonder what the soldiers thought
Who rudely mocked a silent king;
How many flogged and tortured so
Had never spoken anything?
Was only one of all who stood
On guard for Rome to watch Him die
Able to say with contrite heart,
"This is God's Son; He did not lie."
I wonder what the women thought,
The ones who would not hide in fear
But followed even to the cross
To watch him die through veils of tears.
Did they not know that He could take
Their dreams safely through death with Him
And on the third day rise again
Triumphant over death and sin.
I wonder what we would have thought
In our self-righteous ignorance;
What role would you or I have played,
If we had known such circumstance?
Would I have been a Pharisee,
Or just a stranger passing by,
Herod, Pilate, a Roman guard,
Or a Mary on the day Christ died?
What Easter Means to Me!
I think about what Easter means to me.
There’s message that I hope you’ll see.
There is a truth, a purpose for believing.
But too often, it’s lost it’s true meaning!
In this society, there tends to be a habit.
Of comparing Easter with the bunny rabbit.
There’s chocolate, candy and eggs in the store.
As people come back, looking for more.
There’s a message of God he wants to tell you.
A message a life. Don’t let others fool you!
A new life in Jesus, can be yours for the asking.
An abundance of HIS love and life everlasting!
HE is alive! He arose from the dead!
His message of life eternal will forever be said!
His gifts of love and mercy is for all to receive.
He stands at your hearts door. Won’t you believe?
What Easter means, is that Jesus is risen!
This day… You can be cleansed and forgiven!
Won’t you allow HIS message to touch your soul?
The risen Jesus can make you whole!
Let’s proclaim God’s message and make it clear!
Jesus Christ is alive today! He is right HERE!
The tomb is empty!
The stone is rolled away!
This is God’s time!
The Lord’s resurrection day!
By Jim Pemberton
The Blood of Jesus saved my soul
The Blood of Jesus
Made me whole.
The Blood of Jesus is
The means by which
I have become truly Rich.
I speak not of mere material things
But the Hope of Glory which it brings.
As we think of His Blood,
Let us not forget the Man,
Nor fail to realize that He has
A Master Plan.
For us He has made the Ultimate Sacrifice,
And now, it is only fair for us to give him
There really is no doubt about it,
He is in control,
And He also has the power
To make you whole.
So won’t you seek him out
He is sure to set your life
On the upward way.
The Galilean sun smiled down
Upon the dusty little town
And lingered o'er one humble spot,
A peasant's home and modest shop.
Long shafts of light fell 'cross the door
To lay bright carpets on the floor
Where children played in perfect peace
About the shop. Their joy increased
Each time they caught a glimpse of Him,
The carpenter who worked within.
His face was gentle, eyes were kind;
And as He worked, He did not mind
Their ceaseless chatter, endless play
Nor did He find them in His way.
Their laughter rippled round the room;
They scattered sawdust with a broom.
The woodchips falling at His feet
Became for them a fishing fleet
Or beds and chairs for little dolls,
A manger or a cattle stall.
Surrounded by the commonplace;
And yet, uncommon was the grace
With which He faced each daily task
As if all Heav'n lay in His grasp.
A carpenter He was by trade;
The wood responded, unafraid.
Beneath His hands each piece was formed
Into an object to perform
Some deed of usefulness or skill,
The needs of men to fitly fill.
Precise He was in all His craft
From oxen yoke to shepherd's staff
To couches for a nobleman;
He was a careful artisan.
Each part was polished, sanded, ground;
No painful splinters could be found
To pierce the flesh of those who bought
The items fashioned in His ship.
There wood was sacrificed for man
Beneath its own Creator's hands.
Does it seem strange that He would die,
Suspended between earth and sky,
Upon two rugged beams of wood,
This carpenter whose work was good?
It's been nine years, I have counted the tears-
they have made trails of guilt
worried into my heart
then filled with loneliness and bitter despair
but by your grace I have been shown...
For the first time, in these nine years, I have not wept
nor held a vigil to honor our grief
though the loss still burns, this time it is transformed
Peace from your love still reaches through death
and through your eternal love I am reborn
It is Good Friday.
When God took your spirit home
and left me dying to know,
how to love him for his sacrifice
when he asked me to give up you?
How do I heal this death and rise with you in his arms?
Through your love I was born, and in your arms I grew
and it has been your love the kept me whole
that taught me how to be reborn
for even though your body has gone
your words lost in the wind and breath no more
The essence of grace and strength you lived
- it grows still in your daughter soul
My being and existence came from your womb
my heart and mind shaped by your enlightenment
I have lived a life you gave me and for once
I live it in pride to honor your sacrifice
your words giving me the guidance I'd lost nine years ago.
Alas, I've come to know, that as you died
and went home with our Lord, you saved me from my death
not in your dying, my grief and love can attest,
but in your living strength and loving example
you showed me how to live a life
open to our Father's gift
We knew it would not wait, but the parting was too fast.
I sat in thought three days before your sleep and asked,
"In three days time my savior died, I wonder hence
what of my soul will rise with his?"
And now sitting Easter morning,
holding my sons candy-filled basket,
I realized Three days passed.
He took you home Friday morn, but left me love,
that eternal love that never dies
whose comfort is unending
I honor your love by giving it to my children
and Easter morning I felt your hug, your kiss, and knew
you have never left me
Though God took you home Mom
I know you have never left me
for as our Savior died and rose
you too still live in my heart,
showing me proof our Father's blessings
because you, my love, are my soul and all ready there
there fore I am strong enough to give this pain up
to honor his sacrifice and transcend,
to be humbled by the grace and mercy
that could forgive such lost lambs as I
I do not know?
The Tragedy of the Banished Revolutionaries.
Epochs apart, yet,
bound by conscience,
Enduring the whispers of time,
through creeds professed,
and a million sins confessed.
of these banished revolutionaries,
is ceremonially muted by ritual,
and gleefully crushed under,
that serve Religion Inc.
"And the meek shall inherit the earth",
an incendiary thought,
for the pie in the sky that must be sought.
The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
for us to hear,
through the din of the cacophony of prayer.
The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
each day that we choose,
to shun the meek,
and mouth conscience-salving prayers,
for yet more silver,
and yet more silk.
Moments of quiet unfolding:
Quiet probing my spirit's depths,
Like a rose, petals unfolding
To drink in the dawn's sweet breath.
Quiet like the peace that lingered
O're the waters the Master stilled;
Quiet that in the tomb trembled,
Pregnant, waiting to be fulfilled.
Quiet that marched on the victor
Robbing death and defeating sin;
Quiet that stood in the garden
And shouted, "Christ risen again!"
Quiet that is the cloak wrapping
God the Father, Spirit and Son,
Before whom life's vulgar turmoil
Surrenders her tongue and is dumb.
Taking sides in discussions holily
About whether Uran used his willy
Means you're trapped in their game -
Either side is the same:
Cock distracts, cash departs, crowd stays silly.
The National Poet Of Slovenia In A Language People Understand interprets important Slovenian affairs for the non-Slovene speaking world.
Easter is glorious day,
Not only to enjoy,
The candy and Easter egg hunt,
But a day,
In the Lord's resurrection,
Where He gave us,
To save us from our sins,
Which we all should remember,
Each and everyday,
Of our precious lives,
In this world,
That His Father created,
For us all to live,
And gave us a choice,
Between right from wrong,
Which is not always easy,
But if we always turn,
To the Father and the Son,
We will always find,
Them by our side,
Carrying us along the way.
Copyright © 2013
A New Dawn in His Glory
foretold in a biblical story
Coming for those preparing
skyward we will be starring
Like descending parachutes
sounds of trumpets and flutes
Captivating our hearts
giving us a new start
A New Dawn is coming
listen, nature is humming
Idelology clashing blows
a tale between 2 foes
Revelations foretold a day
when more begin to pray
World events getting crazier
humanity's future hazier
Waiting on ONE to stop this mess
or, were we just another lab test?
God required a sacrifice,
Unspotted, perfect, clean;
Nothing less than His own Son,
The sacrifice supreme.
His life was laid down willingly
To redeem lost, fallen man,
Without protest, without a word,
My sacrificial Lamb.
His blood was shed, poured out,
My soul to purify;
The Spirit's all consuming fire
The sacrifice applies.
Blessed, holy Son of God,
Sweet perfume, divine,
The essence of Your sacrifice
Has won this heart of mine.
Today we celebrate Jesus Christ rising from the dead.
As he was nailed to the cross, he suffered and bled.
After Jesus died for our sins, we didn't have to sacrifice animals anymore.
He's the son of God and his teachings are something we can't ignore.
When we ask to be saved in his name, we will not get a rejection.
Today is Easter Sunday and we celebrate Christ's glorious resurrection.
~ Where should I start this poetic trace? ~
Supple summer, season scene
Takes off coats and welcome warmth
And tranquil under soften sky.
Spring 'O' Spring precedence over summer...
Summer host long light evenings,
Carol patterns and seldom pit-a-pat.
Fertile season, holder of juicy jubilee
Easter burners' night, palm Sunday pedestrian...
And good Friday chorus.
March-to-October, love you so much.
~ Hope I am not missing out? ~
Dedicated to the lover of the above poetic summer season.
A troubadour came by my house;
Beneath my window he did sing.
I'd never heard such melody
Or listened to like lyrics ring.
He sang a song I understood,
A song of love for me alone;
And , gazing through the latticed frame,
I knew that I would be his own.
The haunting strains, they wound their way,
Even before I could resist,
My heart was bound by cords of love;
Forever to his song I'd list.
"I long to follow you." I cried,
"Fair, wand'ring minstrel, gay and free;
I want to be your gypsy bride
And sing sweet songs of love with thee."
He bade me follow with a look--
A look my tongue cannot describe--
So tender that my heart leaped up.
"I'll follow you! Oh, yes!" I cried.
T was then I saw, just as I turned
To go with love forevermore,
What I had thought a laurel wreath
Was but a crown of thorns he wore.
The robe which from his shoulders hung--
It had seemed spotless, white as snow;
But, then I saw it stained with blood.
Yet, still with him I longed to go.
His feet and hands were bruised and torn;
"Oh, who had wounded one so good!"
Just then I saw the lute he played
Was but a rugged cross of wood.
"Oh, Love!" I cried, "Dear, fairest one,
Who dared to harm and hurt you so!"
And then I heard the song again...
"It was for you; did you not know?"
"For me? I do not understand;
T was just today I heard your song."
He turned to speak what now I know.
"My love," he said, "I called you long."
We sing the song together now;
Each day is but a new refrain.
Yet, still I marvel when I hear
A note of joy wrung out of pain.
I did not know when first I heard
His music calling to my heart
That love is not triumphant
Till wounded, pierced and torn apart.
My God, How It Hurts
We have forgotten
How dangerous is this man
Refusing not to do miracles
Abjuring not to love
Going beyond His mother's pain
Beyond being a good son
To do the Father's will.
We have forgotten
The depth of evil
He allowed to drench Him
Bleed and bruise Him
Beyond all human endurance
Gleefully denying Him
For whom He was born to be.
We have forgotten
The love of the Father
So fully developed for us
He had to turn away
At that moment on the cruel cross
When God-given life
Was given up.
We have forgotten
How dangerous is this man
Whose love was more than life
This Son of God
Whose promise to us meant so much
That He shrugged off death
And He arose.
by E. Marshall Evans
edifying with no limit;
praising wand worshiping with no rest,
glory with every blessing,
grace with kindness and humility.
reigning spirit with fresh afire,
loving without getting tired.
never giving up on hoping;
the essence of the holy spirit,
the embodiment of the word of it's promise,
true to the first calling to the end.
grace that strengthens,
truth that empowers.
uplifting that brings us back to the first love:
the love of being a servant,
which moves every heart with no doubt,
that to be uplifted,
you must frist be sympathetic and compassionate,
always giving of yourself.
It’s good to get together as friends and confreres
like in table fellowship or religious convocation
and then, enjoy the company of each other’s culture
as Italians, Colombians, Filipinos or Brazilians.
The day after Easter Sunday adds another occasion
for us Scalabrinians to be reunited at this point in time
sharing the gifts of food, life, humor and relationship
with a space for fraternity, some updates and good wishes.
Truly, it shows the spirit of oneness and fraternal fellowship
sharing the commonality of our commitmment to faith
as brothers in Christ and members of our Founder’s order,
the religious congregation that cares for migrant people.
There’s much to do and plan for what we aim to materialize
in today’s world where migration poses a huge issue
like a salad bowl with mozzarella, tomato and olive oil
a metaphor for migration that deals with human cultures.
Described in the Bible as a growing missionary virtue
hospitality as a key to open one’s heart in this journey
With fearlessness and confidence, it’s a major issue
depicting the picture of global movements raised in action.
Our days of darkness, our bickering confreres in places –
where community life matters and features one’s emptiness
in dealing with one another in our quest for human and divine.
it’s indeed a challenge and will always be a test of faith, thus far.
This helps us understand through our setbacks, pains and joys,
with friends around and those who share with us many times
those sacred stories of being called to worship God and be present
especially in the Eucharist that nourishes our souls to be whole.
Between my soul and God there yawns
A chasm stretching out so wide
I cannot see the other side
From where I stand against the dawn.
How great the gulf of human pride,
Of degradation, sin and woe;
Yet, I the true depth do not know.
Nor can I judge it where I hide
Among the trees, all covered o'er
With self-made robes my mind contrives
Of dubious good deeds and lies,
Just withered fig leaves, nothing more.
My soul cries out in agony,
"Can no one turn the dreadful tide?"
And Christ, the one I have defied,
Stoops down to taste my misery.
My heart is wrung in Sorrow's grip;
An awful pounding fills the air,
And, like a dog in mad despair
With glassy eye and foaming lip,
I stare in holy terror now
As upward, out of that dark deep,
A cross takes form. From steep to steep,
It spans the gulf to where I bow.
There, in my night, I dimly see
The Son of God slain, crucified:
How can two arms stretch out so wide
In love to bridge infinity?