Friday, March 31, 2017

Some Call Him Yeshua...

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Image credit:


Yes You are
The Miraculous Offspring
Of I Am

Yes You are
The Paschal

Our Atonement
Flowed down
Wooden beams

Ebbing Life
Our Great Salvation

Yes it did

Suffering Servant
Lion of Judah
Sar ha Shalom[2]

Yes You are
Ha Mashiach[3]


You Are.

Maude Carolan

[1] Hebrew for Jesus
[2] Hebrew for Prince of Peace
[3] Hebrew for the Messiah

Thursday, March 30, 2017

Pilate Asked Him, "What is Truth?"

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Image result for what is truth pilate
Image credit:

John 18:38

I first learned
the importance of truth
at my mother’s knee
My children
learned it at mine

Life has taught me
truth is truth, even
if no one believes it
if no one wants to believe it
if every man is a liar

What’s true is true, even
if millions is spent
to disprove it
if it’s argued against
lobbied against
debated against
railed against
voted against
legislated against

Truth Is

even if it’s watered down
to make it acceptable
skirted around
to soften its appeal             
lubed with oil
so it goes down
nice and easy
sugar coated
to make it palatable

even if it looks
soooo, soooo good

Truth is Truth
whether it’s popular
or unpopular

in the face
of persecution

Pilate asked,
What is truth?

The Psalmist wrote,
The sum of God’s word
is truth

Jesus said,
I Am the Truth

He also said,
Everyone on the side
of truth
listens to Me

I believe the supreme
Truth is a Man
and His unchanging Word

…even though    
He be crucified

Salvation Truth
Resurrection Truth
Living Truth

I can stand up for

Maude Carolan Pych

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Oh Jesus, My Savior...

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Image credit:


It’s not a pretty sight -
It’s beautiful.
            Crimson streaming
            From His crown
            Onto my head,
                        Flowing down my face,
                                    Over my body,
                                                Covering my feet,
                                                            Making me whiter than snow.

It’s not a pretty sight -
It’s beautiful.
            It’s agony.
            He calls for His Father,
            Writhes, gasps, thirsts.
                        Oh, the weighty burden
                        Of sin upon the Sinless One,
                                    The world’s,
            Ushering the covenant of salvation -
                        The world’s,
It’s not a pretty sight -
It’s beautiful.
            It is finished.
            They take Him down
                        From the good and terrible Cross.
                        They place Him in the tomb.
                        They seal the rolling stone.
                        They guard His grave
                                    In awesome,
It’s not a pretty sight -
It’s beautiful.
            His Body, gone.
                        Gone!  With power
                        In one resplendent moment -
                        Seal unsealed,
                                    Stone rolled,
                                                Earth jolted on its axis.

                        Angels appear, hallowing -
                                    Alleluia!  Alleluia!
                                                He is Risen!

                                                            We live
                                                            Because He lives.

                                                                                    Oh! He is beautiful.

Maude Carolan

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

The Binding of Isaac & The Cross

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Image credit:

The Binding of Isaac – Genesis 22

"Take your son
your only son
whom you love…"

Twenty-two chapters into Scripture
and it's the first time love is mentioned
as God tells Abraham,

"Sacrifice Isaac
as a burnt offering"

What swirls
through the mind
of this old patriarch
(who after a hundred years
fathers the son
of God's promise…
the son he loves
and proudly watches grow)
What swirls as he swings
the sharp axe, splitting wood

It was three days journey
from Beersheba to Moriah—
Leaving his servants behind
Abraham hands Isaac
the bundled wood
and carries fire and knife
up the mount

"Avi" (my father)
"where is the lamb?"

"God will provide the lamb
my son"

Abraham erects an altar of stone
arranges the wood and binds the lad
(whose faith and obedience
must be at least as great as his own)

Unflinching before the God
he has finally come to trust
the aged patriarch
(known to lie
to save his own skin
known to try to pull off
God's covenant himself
when it seemed God was slow
in keeping His promise)
this same patriarch…
raises the glinting blade
above his son, his only son
whom he loves…

to knife-fall
the angel of the Lord calls out

"Abraham! Abraham!
Do not lay a hand on the boy…"

The old man
who proves he would
withhold nothing from his God—
drops the bloodless blade
unbinds and embraces Isaac

O boundless relief
Effusive praise

and there, tangled
in a thicket, struggles
the substitute sacrifice
…a ram

Two millennia later
God's Son
His only Son
Whom He loves
carries wood
of a crossbeam
up the very same mountain

No angel of the Lord
arrives last moment
to halt the hammerfall
No ram appears
in a thicket

For God so loves
the world
He provides…
His Son
His only Son…The Sacrificial Lamb

Maude Carolan

Monday, March 27, 2017

Are You Accustomed to The Cross?

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Image credit:


I’m accustomed to the Cross.

I’ve seen it since childhood
gleaming high atop steeples,
crucifixes behind altar rails,
on hospital walls,
on bedroom walls,
depicted in framed masterpieces,
depicted in sculpted masterpieces,
described in written masterpieces,
marking graves in cemeteries,
illustrated in holy books,
affixed to lapels,
tattooed on forearms,
hanging silver and golden
and studded with diamonds
and sapphires from the necks
of men, women, children—
hanging, hanging on my mind.

So accustomed, yet
sometimes it is everywhere
and I don’t see it at all.

Today I see it afresh
sturdy and wooden and terrifying
through Good Friday eyes
that send streams down my cheeks
as blood streams from His wounds.
I shudder,
mindful of the Man
dying upon the beams
and the reason He is there—

at the horror of it, Jesus my Lamb,
at the magnitude of it, Jesus my King,
at the love upon it, Jesus my Friend,
and my gratitude for it,
O Blessed Jesus,
my precious Lord and Savior
Who by His Death
and Resurrection
purchased eternal life…for me.

Maude Carolan

Sunday, March 26, 2017

"A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day" Begins Today

I've just returned from a great vacation with my son Kevin, his wife Omayra and their son Antonio in LA. We fit in a side-trip to San Diego to visit my nephews and their families. I loved every minute and enjoyed every hug. Now that I'm home I will begin posting a poem-a-day until Resurrection Day. Check the blog each day for a poetic meditation on Jesus' atonement for our sins and His glorious Resurrection...

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Image credit:


I scan Google Images
looking for a depiction of the Crucifixion
to illustrate a Lenten poem on my blog
I’m unable to look squarely at the pictures—
Many are so heart-wrenching, so gruesome
I have to turn away

I think of the four Gospels
providing matter-of-fact statements
to tell us Jesus was crucified
sparing us details
of His suffering

Oh, I’m well aware
it is 2000 years later
and no holds are barred
when it comes to portrayals of violence
I go to the movies
I watch TV

I’ve squirmed through
The Passion of the Christ
with my heart beating fast
and eyes tightly closed
during the bloodiest sequences
I’ve read A Doctor at Calvary[1]
in which each and every stain
on the Shroud of Turin
is elaborated upon
in minute medical detail

I do not need
more graphic words and pictures
My mind’s eye sees
His thorn-crowned Head
His nail-pierced hands
My mind’s ear hears

Father, forgive them…
          …why hast Thou forsaken Me?
It is finished.

At last, I click on an image—
a crossbeam, a circle of thorns
and three nails

I post it to the blog
insert my poem

and shudder
a most grateful shudder
that Jesus, my beloved Savior
endured that terrible Cross
for me

Maude Carolan Pych

[1] A Doctor at Calvary by Pierre Barbet, M.D., published by Image Books, a division of Doubleday & Co., Inc., Garden City, NY

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

The Love of God...

A Lenten Meditation in Poetry

Image credit:

When I applied stinging iodine
to the tender knees of my children
or a corrective spank
or a hug to assuage a broken heart
I remember that
their wounds, hurts
even the chastisements
wounded me more than them –
Why, I would've become a she-lion
poised to pounce and mangle
bruisers of my own –
yet the very God I know as Love
was pleased to crush
was delighted to bruise[2]
His Very Own

So, I shudder, convinced
God's ways are infinitely higher
than my finite mind can grasp –
for God stayed His almighty hand
held His almighty tongue
waited it out in His Heaven
pleased, even delighted
to give His Only Son
innocent, docile as a lamb
to be mocked, bruised, spat upon
crowned with thorn branches
stripped and nailed naked to a tree –

yes, pleased and delighted was He
as the Most Precious Blood
of His Only Son
rained like rubies
upon the ground

Pleased and delighted am I
that the God Who so loves
crushed and bruised
His Very Own
for me

Maude Carolan

[1] Isaiah 53:10 "New American Standard Bible"
[2] Isaiah 53:10 , "Young's Literal Translation of the Holy Bible"