Showing posts with label Easter Poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Easter Poem. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 06, 2019

Poem - Relics : A Good Friday Reading

Relics
A Communion Reading for Good Friday 2019
Chaplain O. Kris Widmer, Ordained Minister
Idea: February 27, 2019      Printed:  February 28, 2019



I need not be a groveling pilgrim
in a distant land
to remember Him.
I need not walk the actual street
where He dragged those timbers
with His bloodied feet. No,
            The bread and the wine
            Will do just fine.

I need not know the actual place
Where a soldier’s spit
Dripped down His face.
I need not stand on the actual knoll
where the crucified died
bringing life to my soul. No,
            The bread and the wine
            Will do just fine.

I need not have the actual cross
on which He died
to consider that loss.
I need not touch the actual crown
of thorns that a soldier
pushed in and down. No,
            The bread and the wine
            will do just fine.

I need not see the knuckle bones
used to gamble for
the garb He owned.
I need not touch the actual robe
that was won that day
when He saved this globe. No,
            The bread and the wine
            Will do just fine.

I need not behold the actual steel
that held His hand,
just to make it real.
I need no drops of actual of blood
to know there is power
in that cleansing flood. No,
            The bread and the wine
            Will do just fine.

I need not clutch the actual shroud
used to carry him away
from that mocking crowd.
I need not visit the actual site
where His body lay
on that Friday night. No,
            The bread and the wine
            Will do just fine.

I can vividly recall
what happened there;
when He died for all!
Echo (echo) of curse, of swear;
No heavenly voice answers
His lonely prayer! See,
            The bread and the wine
            Will do just fine.
                                   
Read each glorious Gospel page.
Earth’s recoiling
in a rumbling rage!
Horrible human death machine!
“Finished!” Silence…
Such closing scenes!”  Oh, Yes!
            The bread and the wine
            Will do just fine!

A bite of bread. A sip of wine.
Ground seed of field; crushed fruit of vine.
These relics appear every place I dine.
I need not be actually in Palestine.

A bite.  A sip.  And I’m where He stumbled.
I hear the echos of what He mumbled
“Truly, you’ll join me in Paradise!”
“After three days…you’ll see…I’ll rise!”

I need not feel His precious scars,
to know He’s risen
among the stars.
I need not stand where He ascended.
to spread the good news -
“We’ve been friended!”  Remember,
            The bread and the wine
            Will do just fine.      Yes…
            The bread and wine

            Will do just fine.

Monday, February 15, 2016

Poem - He Came To Die

I'm at The One Project in Seattle.   This is my third time at this gathering of people with Adventist faith in their lives...that are seeking to make Jesus.  All.    I am one of them...and it is why "Jesus.   All." has been printed on our church bulletin cover for the past 3 years.

Yesterday, on Day One of "The Final Week" the first presenter - Paul Dybdahl drew out from the Bible the parallels from the birth and death of Jesus.   It made me think of this old poem I wrote a few years ago.


HE CAME TO DIE
O. Kris Widmer

He came to die.

The Babe in the Manger
The Man on the Cross

Both times, He is next to wood.
Both times, He is wrapped only in a cloth.
Both times, He is gifted with myrrh.
Both times, He catches Herod’s attention.
Both times, He is crying.
Both times, His mother, Mary, weeps and crys out.
Both times, it is a man named Joseph who saves the day.

One time, the angels sing “Glory to God.”
One time, they hide their faces, not daring to look.

One time, a bright star is seen in the sky.
One time, even the sun refuses to shine.

The Babe in the Manger
The Man on the Cross

Both times, He lays in a borrowed cave.

One time, He lays on soft, fresh hay.
One time, He lays on a stone-cold slab.

One time, He is alive and kicking.
One time, He is dead and stiff.

Both times, the soldiers come up empty.
Both times, the angels says “Fear not...”

Just think, He came to die for YOU.
He came to share your life and take your death,
so that you, though you share His death, may have His life.

The Babe in the Manger

The Man on the Cross

Poem - A Mother's Love (Scraped Apples)

  Poem: A Mother's Love O. Kris Widmer Idea: in 2025 Written: September 15, 2026 When I was a boy sick in bed with a fever my mothe...