Salvation Symphony

resonant
ringing sound
of hammer head on nail
echoes
across Calvary
reverberates
vibrant
victorious
cymbal-like
first clashing note
of the final
carefully orchestrated movement
of God’s symphony
of Salvation

metal
drives through flesh
and crimson life-blood
of the Christ
spills out
upon the timber altar
of the cross

the finale
has begun

and the unflinching Saviour
turns his head
to watch the lead percussionist
steady the nail

and He sees

that it is good

Blood on the Ground

when her eyes
could bear
to look at him no more
her head
dropped
and finally
her brave composure shattered
a great releasing
flow of grief
consumed her shaking body

and John’s
strong arms
wrapped themselves tightly round her
sharing the pain
holding her together
in her brokenness

and when the tears
had run their painful course
her vacant eyes
stared blindly
through the watery veil
at the bloodstains
by her feet
the blood of her son
colouring the Golgotha dust

and her mind went back
to another time
another lonely place
when it was her blood
staining a dusty stable floor
blood of her womb
outpoured
in his birthing

to a time
when she had made
her sacrifice
given her virginal womb
to the purposes of God

and as another
deep
red
globule
fell to the ground
she knew
that this was her blood too
another sacrifice by her
and part of her
was dying with him

and another tear
broke loose

Red

poem inspired by this image:
by Joerg Lehmann
(c) Pinotage wines


the true vine
weeps

deep
red
juice

down the timbers
of the cross

blood of the new covenant
pouring itself
from his wounds

the fruit of his life
crushed
into rich
red
eucharistic wine

sacrificing
the one
true life
to give life

the vine
weeps

deep
celebratory
red

The Timber

with the poignant love
of one who knows
the pain that is to come

he fingered
the grain of the wood
touched it
reverently
felt every nuance of its texture
ran his hand
along its roughness
gazed
at its patterning

saw deep below
its splintered outer surface
to the beauty
at its heart

pressed his face
against the timber
felt the strength of it
breathed in the smell of it
buried his mind
in its touch and its scent

a soft
woody fragrance
stirring echoes
of childhood

memories of
the toddler in the sawdust
at his father’s feet

images of youth
the young man
learning the carpenter’s trade
but knowing
always knowing
there was other work
for him to do

and his mother
speaking softly
telling
and re-telling
again and again
always with affection
the story
of the manger

a crib at his birth
a cross at his death

timber
framing his life

his whole history
flashed across his mind
as he fingered
held
breathed in the scent of
the wood
memories
mingling with the pain

there was something
completely right
about this death which was his destiny

he was ready

now was the hour

he stooped
to shoulder a piece of wood
for one last time

The Cup

a rule breaker
to the end
inviting us to drink blood
it was only wine of course
but he was saying
it was his blood

somehow
that was significant
yet it went against the grain
of all our Jewish sensitivities
to drink
blood

it was another mystery
another conundrum

we couldn’t begin to get our thoughts
around the questions
racing through our heads
that night

only later
a very long time later
did the faintest
chink of understanding
start to filter through

a sacrificial lamb

the ultimate
never needed again
sacrificial lamb

that’s what he was

pouring his blood out

for us