July 15, 2017

Moneychanger

Posted in Judas, Liturgical Calendar, Maundy Thursday at 11:06 pm by Teresa Roberts Johnson

Oh, stood you there as moneychangers fled,
And did your pious glare increase their dread?
As they sought refuge from His holy wrath,
Pray, did you salvage coins in the aftermath?
Sly keeper of the funds, how carefully
You counted silver and spent frugally!
Was yours the voice objecting to the price
Of bread to change the wilderness to paradise?
You cringed when fragrant oil was freely poured
To anoint the blessed feet of Christ the Lord.
You feigned concern for souls who live in dearth,
While reckoning upon the spikenard’s worth.
Then in your final pact to fill your purse,
You sold the Maker of the Universe.

Copyright © 2017 by Teresa Roberts Johnson (All rights reserved)


Scriptural context:

Mark 11:14-16

Mark 6:35-38

Matthew 26:6-16

 

 

March 31, 2015

You, Judas

Posted in Holy Week, Judas, Maundy Thursday, The Eucharist tagged , , , at 8:17 pm by Teresa Roberts Johnson

You saw Him turn the water into wine,
Saw crowds who followed Him sit down to dine
On loaves and fishes freely blessed and given,
Requiring that no money from your purse be riven.
A fish produced a shekel for His tax.
Each of His followers for nothing lacks.
Though at His call you left your livelihood,
From His hand you were given every good.
But, keeper of the money bag, your eyes
Could not from wealth of this world ever rise.
Blessings mistaken for the realm itself
Decay and tarnish, cease to be real wealth.
His Kingdom—so much more than coins and bread—
Escaped your grasp, and doom fell on your head.

Copyright © 2015 by Teresa Roberts Johnson (All rights reserved)


John 2:1-11

John 6

Matthew 17:26-27

John 12:4-6

John 13

Genesis 3:15

April 19, 2014

Saturday’s Sorrow

Posted in Atonement, Cain, Darkness, Good Friday, Grief, Holy Saturday, Holy Week, Hope, Judas, Redeemer, Son of God, Spiritual Warfare, Suffering Servant at 2:53 pm by Teresa Roberts Johnson

The room was silent, save for somber weeping
And weary feet that found no purpose now.
The faithful few their watch were keeping;
They could not bear their Lord to disavow.

But He was dead, and they began to wonder
If they had spent the past three years in vain,
For they had seen the blood and heard the thunder
Of “Crucify Him!” and “Release the son of Cain!”

To trade the Perfect Man for vile Barabbas
Confounded justice to its very core.
What evil had He done that He should die thus?
What were His deeds that we should so abhor?

Yet worse by far was Judas’ treason
For with the Lord his life was intertwined.
He walked with them but for a season
Till envious greed consumed his peace of mind.

In shock, the twelve were left to wait and ponder
The path that led them to this woeful night.
Was there a reason or did they just wander?
As darkness fell, they longed for morning’s light.

Copyright © 2014 by Teresa Roberts Johnson (All rights reserved)


Holy Saturday is a time of waiting, a time of reflection upon the sin that nailed Jesus to the cross. Lent has brought us to this climax of horror at our sin, of sorrow that death is its reward, and of recognition that we were Cain and Barabbas but yet the perfect Son of God was the One who died.

If this poem feels disjointed and incomplete to you, then it has done its job. Anyone who has endured a major loss will understand those early responses in which deep pain circles back on numbness, in which the mind runs rampant with memories but cannot produce coherent a single coherent thought. This is where the disciples were on that Saturday that followed Good Friday.

But the last two words pull the poem up before it crashes completely. For no matter how dark the night, we have every reason to hope, just as the disciples did. The hope may be as dim as the promise of morning’s light, but it is real nonetheless.

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