Wednesday, March 24, 2021

Agony in the Garden


 Until Resurrection Day...

The poem that follows is a personal recollection from the Garden of Gethsemane, during the combination pilgrimage/honeymoon that Bob and I spent in the Holy Land in 2006.

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Israel Pilgrimage—2006


We are given a little time to stroll

through a grove of olive trees—

the Garden of Gethsemane


Gethsemane means olive press

I am a living olive press

I walk along the path

trampling ripened fruit

beneath my feet


The ancient trees

which sometimes live

more than 4,000 years

have taken on characteristics

of crippled old men

Sinewy twisted limbs

are gnarled and pocked

The bark is jagged and grey


A few ripe black olives remain

dangling from branches

like little ebony orbs


As I meander, I wonder

about my Savior

and the night before

He was crucified

The night He prayed

among trees such as these

the night He asked His Father

if the cup could be removed


Surely, the crushing weight

of the olive press

bore heavily upon His shoulders

as He offered a prayer so deep

so utterly wrenching

the intensity of its passion

caused His Body

to sweat blood from His pores

Oh, my Jesus!


I shudder—


We come together

for an anointing service

Jonathan asks what we would like

to be anointed for

He touches each forehead

with fragrant oil

and prays


I ask for words

to give glory to the Lord

in my poems


Bob asks to draw closer to God

and adds his desire

that the Lord will always be

at the center of our marriage—


Oh, sweet bridegroom

thank you for your precious

honeymoon prayer


Maude Carolan Pych

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!"

by Maude Carolan Pych

is available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

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