Thursday, March 31, 2022

It Pleased the Lord...

A Poem for Lent...



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

probably 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" 

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!" by Maude Carolan Pych, is a book of poems written over a span of 30 years, about the Birth, Death, and Resurrection of Jesus.  It is available online at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, etc.

Wednesday, March 30, 2022

What Was God Doing?

 A Poem for Lent...

Image credit:



What was God doing?

What was He thinking

high up in His Heaven

when the Great Climax was unfolding

and His only begotten Son was sweating hemorrhages of blood

in fervent prayer before Him, that night in the garden?


What was God doing?

What was He thinking

high up in His Heaven

when His Son was pleading

for the removal of that great Grail of suffering,

yet in submission acquiesced to His Father’s higher will?


What was God doing?

What was He thinking

high up in His Heaven

during the sentencing and scourging, spitting and mocking,

as His Perfect Pascal Lamb carried the crossbeam to Calvary,

falling and falling and falling again?


What was God doing?

What was He thinking

high up in His Heaven

when they stripped His Beloved,

held His hand to the beam and lifted the hammer

and pounded the spike through sinless flesh?

Did He hold His ears?  Did He turn away?

Did His tears pour down as the blood ran down?

Did He pound His fist?  Scream?


What was God doing?

What was He thinking

high up in His Heaven

when His Son cried, “Why...hast Thou...forsaken Me?”

Victory was so close.  Did He almost change His mind?


What was God doing?

What was He thinking

high up in His Heaven

when it finally was finished?

Was His heavy heart throbbing

as He darkened the sky and quaked the dry earth,

opened old graves, and breathed life into dead?

Was it with grief or great jubilation

that He tore asunder the curtain to the Holy of Holies?


What oh what was God thinking

at that Climax of climaxes

with Satan and sin squashed under His heel,

and after the Ascension,

at Their glorious reunion,

did Father and Son

dance the Hora in Highest Heaven?


Maude Carolan

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!"

by Maude Carolan Pych

is available online at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.

Tuesday, March 29, 2022

"Remembering Good Fridays"

A Poem for Lent...

Image credit:



When I was a young girl, back in the ’50s

my grandmother said

there should be no talking on Good Friday

between the hours of one and three


no running around, no radio, and no TV

all out of respect for our Savior

Who suffered and died

upon the Cross at Calvary


so try though I did to be silent and still

I was as fidgety, squirmy, and irksome

as any healthy active kid would be

who had not yet grasped

the profound depth of what happened

that terrible good day when Jesus died


and in the '70s when my own children

were young and restless

I would bring them to church

during the very same hours Grandma decreed

to venerate the holy Cross

We’d approach the altar

where the Crucifix was displayed

kneel down and kiss the nail-pierced feet of Jesus

or solemnly watch a reenactment of the Passion

by the youth group


Now, so many years later

now that I am a grandmother myself

I sit without fidgeting and fumbling

willingly turn off the radio and the TV

and carve out meaningful time to meditate

upon all my precious Lord endured

to save me from my sins


Sometimes I sing

“Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?”

Sometimes I weep

and sometimes, like today, I write a poem


Always, Jesus’ great sacrifice breaks my heart

and always, looking back

at that astonishing empty tomb

I’m reminded of the Hallelujah Hope

I have in Him—which is eternal


Grandma would be so pleased


Maude Carolan Pych

Here's a copy of my book displayed on a shelf 

at Barnes & Noble, Woodland Park, NJ.

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!"
by Maude Carolan Pych
is also available online at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.

Monday, March 28, 2022

About Pontius Pilate...

 A Poem for Lent...

Image credit:



During my first pilgrimage to Israel

archeologist and guide, Micha Ashkenazi

took us to Caesarea to view a replica

of a piece of limestone

partially inscribed with the name Pontius Pilatus


Micha had been a member of the team

that unearthed the stone there

during a dig in 1961


It is the only evidence

of the historical existence

of the Roman governor

outside the New Testament

and writings of Josephus Flavius


Interesting, Pilate, who may have given

a modicum of credence to his wife’s warning

to have nothing to do with Jesus

did make an abysmal effort

to prevent the crucifixion

by setting Barabbas

before the riled multitude


When the crowd shouted to free Barabbas

and called for death to Jesus

their chants of


Crucify Him! Crucify Him!


drummed in his ears


Pilate asked for a basin of water

He washed his hands in front of them—

as if water could possibly cleanse him

of responsibility for what would happen next


The irony is that even now

thousands of years hence

contempt for this man is as clear

as his name etched in stone—


for wherever believers gather

and proclaim their creed




suffered under Pontius Pilate

was crucified, dead, and buried…


Pilate’s guilt is an indelible stain

that can never be

washed from our minds


Maude Carolan Pych

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!"
by Maude Carolan Pych
is available online at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.

Sunday, March 27, 2022

The Betrayer...

A Poem for Lent...

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“…But woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man!

It would be better for him if he had not been born.” Matt 26:24b (NIV)


He controlled the money bag

dipped into the money bag

dipped with Jesus at table

mingled with Him

chewed the fat

as they roasted fish

along the shore of the Galilee


Judas watched Him heal

the blind and lame

even raise the dead

was there when He fed

hungry multitudes

calmed a raging squall

and walked billow to billow

upon the storm-tossed sea


He heard Him teach

beatitudes, parables

even how to pray

observed His tenderness

as children climbed

upon His lap

observed His mercy

to those who sinned much


The day Mary anointed Jesus’ feet

with extravagant nard

and dried them

with her unpinned hair

it was he who complained

the perfume should have been sold

the money given to the poor—

yes, it was he, holder

of the purse strings


When this same apostle agreed

to betray his master

for a handful of silver

did he think

the Miracle Worker

would somehow slip away

unscathed, as He had

the day He was driven

out of the synagogue

by an angry mob

intent on throwing Him

off a cliff


Woe to the mercenary

betrayer of the Son of Man

…Mammon had always been

his greater god


Their final evening

at the Paschal meal

the Master stooped

to wash filth

from His betrayer’s feet


Judas partook of the Bread

drank of the Wine

and when Jesus dipped a morsel

and gave it to him

from His very own hand

the taker took that, too


Later, in the garden

following Jesus’ great travail

Judas approached Him

with armed cohorts

called Him, “Rabbi”

kissed his face

still damp with blood and sweat

as the Rabbi called him, “Friend”


The word echoed

echoed, echoed

in thunderous


till he flung

the tarnished coins

through temple doors

till he tied

a ragged noose around his neck

and hanged his wretched self

from a jutting twisted limb


Maude Carolan

Here I am with a copy of my book of poetry
about the Birth, Death & Resurrection of Jesus...
To order a copy of "Behold the Lamb...poetically!"
by Maude Carolan Pych
just go online to Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

Saturday, March 26, 2022

After the Hosannas...

 A Poem for Lent...

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It’s Lent—

I’m sitting here meditating

upon that final week

wondering what happened to His followers

after Jesus entered Jerusalem

riding astride a donkey

as people spread their coats before Him

along the dusty road

Wondering about those followers

the ones who cut branches from palm trees

and waved them at Him in homage, proclaiming


Hosanna to the Son of David!

Hosanna in the highest!


After all, He was their humble King


I’m sitting here wondering what happened

between then and days later

when Jesus stood before Pilate

amid a crowd of onlookers

persuasive chief priests and elders

and everyone began shouting


Crucify Him! Crucify Him!


Did they forget the taste of water

that He turned into wine?


Did they forget the healed lepers and the blind?


Did they forget Him preaching

to the multitudes, Blessed be the poor…

and the thousands He fed with a few loaves and fish


Did they forget He healed a pitiful demoniac

and the woman with an issue of blood


Could they have forgotten that he said to the dead girl,

Talitha kum, and she sprang right up and walked


And Lazarus? Could they possibly have forgotten

that Jesus called His friend out of the tomb

and Lazarus emerged, grave clothes coiled

around his body…after three days!


I’m still sitting here wondering about

how quickly they turned

from their hosannas

to calling for His death


Wasn’t there one clear-headed believer

one unable-to-be-swayed witness

one unshakable faithful-unto-death follower

to boldly shout out in protest…




No. There wasn’t


Not even one


Maude Carolan Pych

 You will find many more poems about Our Lord

in Maude Carolan Pych's book

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!"

 The book is available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Friday, March 25, 2022

Led Like a Lamb to Slaughter

 A Poem for Lent...

Image credit:


"He was led like a lamb to the slaughter,

and as a sheep before her shearers is silent,

so he did not open his mouth." Isaiah 53:7 N.I.V.


Father Bob drained the cup

and replaced the cover

on the brass pyx of Hosts.

Communion over

the two old friends

settled back

in their kitchen chairs


A natural storyteller

Leo began to reminisce

about Mr. Sattel

his neighbor in Roselle Park

in the 1940s –

the best bologna maker

at the pork store nearby


Eventually the neighbor

purchased some farmland

and moved to Penn's Grove

where he built a slaughterhouse

Leo spent time there

the summer between grammar

and high school


He had watched Mr. Sattel subdue

fat squealing hogs

and tenacious bulls

Saw him and his helpers

pull resisting livestock

by a rope fed through a nose ring

to another ring in the floor

where struggling animals

were systematically


one at a time


Mr. Sattel grew hardened

even provoked to anger

by the tugging and digging in of hooves

amid the ominous odor of blood

which roused the desperate instinct

against death –


The grueling labor of slaughter

left him no energy for grief


but his steel eyes glazed over

one muggy afternoon

when he told Leo,


"I did a lamb once.


It walked right alongside me

up the ramp.


I'll never

do it




An edgy silence followed –

silent as paces of a lamb



There they sat, two white-haired friends

washed by the shed blood

of One Docile Lamb

Who walked Calvary's ramp


two thousand years ago


Maude Carolan

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!"
by Maude Carolan Pych
is available online at Amazon & Barnes & Noble.


Thursday, March 24, 2022

It's What Grandmas Do


My paternal grandmother,
Maude Lewis Walsh



I picked up my grandchildren

at Saint Mary’s elementary school

They tossed their heavy backpacks

into the back of the car

got in and fastened their seatbelts

They know the routine—

don’t need to be reminded anymore


As we drove off

I could hear them in the back seat

talking about Lent and fasting

Dean and Alana gave up electronics

Their big brother Logan

now in high school

gave up chocolate

Dean asked, “Grandma

what did you give up?”


I told Dean I didn’t give up

anything this Lent, instead

I give Jesus a gift of new poems—

Some days I spend quiet time

writing poems that give glory to Him

and every day I post

a Lenten poem on my blog

Dean said, “Wow! That’s a lot

of poems, Grandma!”


I explained that it’s perfectly fine

to give up things for 40 days, but

sometimes people do other things

like donating to a charity

or visiting the sick

or baking cookies for an elderly neighbor

anything that draws them closer to God


Then I thought about my own grandmother—

She lived next door

when I was growing up

Grandma loved the Lord

and often talked to me about Him

She even made me a special scrapbook

with a cardboard cover

that she decorated with flowers

she carefully cut

from a Burpee seed catalog

The scrapbook contained pictures of children

kittens and puppies, and Howdy Doody

but more importantly, it contained

the 11 chapter story by Charles Dickens

that he wrote for his children in the 1840s

called, The Life of Our Lord

The story was published as a serial

in the Paterson Morning Call, in the 1950s


I still have that scrapbook

still appreciate that Grandma took the time

to make it just for me


It’s the kind of thing grandmas do—

Important things like that


Maude Carolan Pych

Here are a few photos from the scrapbook my grandmother made for me in the 1950s:

And here is a photo of my book of poems
about the Birth, Death, and Resurrection of Jesus:

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!"
by Maude Carolan Pych

is available online at Amazon & Barnes & Noble.

Wednesday, March 23, 2022

The Binding of Isaac

A Poem for Lent...



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 has proven he would

withhold nothing from his God—

drops the bloodless blade

unbinds and embraces Isaac


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

Would you like to read more poems about Jesus?

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!"
By Maude Carolan Pych

is available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.