“Outside the city wall”
Philippians c2 v6-8
One winter night the prince left home
The palace city, his father’s side
Descended the long steep hill
The road that led
To the fringes of the realm
Where he grew up, identity unknown
To all save those who cared for him in village home.
Then at the right time he began the journey home
Taking with him those he’d called and loved
To follow him. Country folk
Who did not know
That such following would lead
To betrayal, their flight, his grim death
Then dark sorrow beyond all height and breadth and depth.
For when his journey reached the temple city’s gates
His by right to enter as a king
He came and saw and left again
Claiming no rights.
Returning next day to teach
To pray, to lament: they would not listen
To words of peace and hope or believe his mission.
And on the fifth day after giving up his rights
He left as criminal, not High King
Carrying a shameful cross
To die alone
Faithful few lost friends look on
While life, light beneath deep darkness fall
Far, far from heaven’s fields outside the city wall.
The verses from Philippians were read at our Good Friday Service yesterday. They are such a powerful telling of what Jesus did in becoming human and dying for us. We know the end of the story, But think about what the disciples. For them it was the end . The following picture and poem attempt to capture that,
Cold wind on Saturday
The cold wind swirls between unknowing upright posts
that hold no memory of what happened here
in darkness on the day before.
The dust is stirred and covers drops of blood
that fell from nail-pierced hands and feet.
The cold wind moves leaves about a stone-closed grave.
Bored soldiers, unsure why they are there on guard.
Apathy – but for a slight sense
that the spear-struck corpse was different enough
to cause some inconvenience.
The cold wind stirs signed papers on an office desk.
Filing must await this long Sabbath’s end
when leaders can again engage
with law and order and the civil power.
One problem off the list. What’s next?
The cold wind touches chill the tear-streaked cheeks
of a woman within the fortress walls
who weeping barely knew him.
Herself and love, hope, the man out there all lost.
Denial, duty, pain and death.
The cold wind sighs in Bethany. Grief past tears.
The one they loved is gone and cannot come again.
Memories alone. Words, looks, touch.
Desertion, lies, failure to stay on to the end.
What living now when life is gone?
The cold wind moans on through this night’s little death.
Pain lost in sleep will wake again with dawn.
Such deep wounds cannot quickly heal.
Bring spices to honour the beloved dead
And soothe our ache now he is lost.
The picture and poem were always intended to go together. The picture id the first (and still the largest) oil painting I did when I switched from watercolours. and though it is a beginners pice it still means a lot.
Easter Day 2023
Grey heavy clouds still solemn overlie
The shining of the morning April sun.
War, hunger, death still stalk this broken earth,
Seek to deny the work that Christ has done.
Heart sadness still so heavy presses down
So many pained by hunger, loss and need.
Our battered earth, air, sea now deeply grieve
The desolation wrought by human greed.
But beyond the clouds bright light is still shining
Beyond all lies the truth of hope stands clear.
We now look back to dark death defeated
Forward in hope: our risen Lord is here
Easter 3 years ago was overcast .The war in Ukraine was over a year old. Gaza had still to happen. The Gulf was a flashpoint but not a priority anxiety. But the third verse is still true.
I rewrote the piece from its original to a 10 syllable line so it would fit "Finalndia", one of my favourite hymn tunes but Its not been tried - yet!
Rooted
“that you, being rooted and grounded in … Ephesians c3 v7
Rooted in dark embrace of earth
Safe from cold winter’s overlay
The first faint stirring of reviving life
Pale buds push upwards to new birth.
Grounded in richness of good soil
Provided with the needs for growth
Rain of grace seeps down to nourish hope
That no return of frost can spoil
Season moves on to early spring
Shoots break through into a wider world
Green tentative but stretching to the sky
Where clouds scud by and skylarks sing
Stems grow and swell to latent bloom
Aware that what they will become
Is more than this, their true and destined self
Dancing joyful after winter’s gloom.
One day of warmth beneath blue sky
The sleepers wake to gold and glory
And know surpassing love that unlike earth’s
Daffodils will not fade and die
Easter Monday. Driving Eastwards
Sudden storm clouds out of the west
Piled darkness over noonday sun.
Crack of thunder, lighting flash
Driving hail, the wild wind’s lash.
Those clouds outpaced our journey east.
Black turned through violet dark and deep
To stark sombre solemn blue.
Sharp light etching trees, fields, grew
Gave each green a brilliant hue.
Young leaves hazed hope on winter hedge.
Blackthorn blossom lined the road.
April bloom on fresh new wold.
Fresh springtime life in new spring’s light
Seen this way because storm came first.
Unknown the glory of the Cross
Without pain and grief and loss.
11/4/23
The title was inspired by “Good Friday, Riding Westwards”, a John Donne poem I regularly read on that day.
And finally, for something that at least starts less seriously (and because I haven't yet finished "Easter 2026)" ....
Easter 2024
Easter eggs are getting smaller
But the foil’s not lost its shine.
Though their price just keeps on rising
(But less risk to the waistline).
Bright daffodils ae dancing
In the fresh bright air of spring
Winter’s passed, no-one is mourning
Bluetits, blackbirds build and sing.
Resurrection destroyed dark death
New life will last for ever
Though summer storms will surely come
We’ll worship Christ together.
I hope you have enjoyed this Easter edition of "Ironstone and Irises" .
And that it has perhaps put the "old, old story" of Good Friday and Easter into a new perspective to add to all those you already have.