The Road to Emmaus

To walk with a Friend –
Yet not know him.
To hear him speak –
Yet not hear the voice.
To have our hearts ablaze –
Yet not discern the source.
To thrill at truth revealed –
Yet not see The Truth.

Yet, we would delay his journey,
Keep his company longer;
Extend our fellowship with him gladly;
Share the little we have
In return for the much he has given.

Familiar movements lift the bread aloft.
Familiar words give thanks and bless.
Familiar actions break the loaf apart,
Familiar hands with unfamiliar nail-prints
Pass the bread—and all is Light!
And he is gone!

It was Jesus!
He it was who walked with us;
He it was who talked with us;
He it was who set us on fire;
He it was who showed us truth.
He it was who died and lives again!
Come, we must tell the news!

Still it is Jesus who
Walks with us,
Talks with us,
Kindles our hearts,
Fills them with Truth.
Jesus lives!
Come, we must tell the news!

Copyright © 2015 Desmond Hilary

A Quiet Night in Bethany

Well, this is it, the main event!
A thunderous welcome:
The cheering crowd,
The waving palms,
The strewn clothes.
“Hosanna,” they shouted:
“Save now!” their cry.
Ah, yes...
But not in the way they think.

For thirty years I've learnt my trade;
Wielded the tools,
Driven in nails,
Cherished the wood,
Worked with the grain;
Earned a reputation,
Lived a different life.
Ah, yes...
But not in the way they think.

For three years more I've shown the way;
Wielded the words,
Driven home points,
Cherished their substance,
Worked through their pain;
Earned a certain notoriety,
Marked out a different path.
Ah, yes...
But not in the way they think.

And now, we have but five days more.
Still they are frail,
Missing the point;
Sensing the moment,
Yet not working it out;
Feeling somewhat emboldened,
Set up for the decisive fray.
Ah, yes...
But not in the way they think.

In five days more shall all be done:
The Tyrant shall fall,
Shackles be broken,
Freedom break out;
A new world begin,
Lives be transformed,
And love rule the day.
Ah, yes...
But not in the way they think.

For soldier-boys will ply my trade;
Wielding the tools,
Driving in nails.
I'll cherish the wood,
Hang against the grain
Beneath a reputation;
Die a different death.
Ah, yes...
But not in the way they think.

Copyright © 2015 Desmond Hilary

Sabbath Wrest

Hope lies cold and dead entombed,
Deep despair grasps for its loss,
Brokenness in shadows hides.
Much expected—nothing came.

Haunted by the sounds and sights—
Soldiers, priests and shouting crowd;
Questions by the flick'ring fire.
Courage needed—nothing came.

Haunted by that fireside look,
Crowing rooster's mocking cry;
Dismal failure wracks the mind.
Love was needed—nothing came.

Hide away, for cringing shame.
Hide away, in fear and dread.
Hide away, to weep and mourn.
Much was promised—nothing came.

Copyright © 2014 Desmond Hilary

Son’s-day Morning

Brilliant, burning light
Floods the tomb.
Darkness flees the flame
For sanctuary in the shadows
But finds they are gone:
For here, there is light
And no darkness.

Brilliant, burning light
Banishes darkness.
Death’s grip slips away,
A broken body breathes –
Breathes, and lives again:
For here, there is life
And no death.

Brilliant, burning light
Restores and heals
The True Light of the World,
Who stands and laughs loud,
Delights in life itself;
For here, there is wholeness
And no pain.

Brilliant, burning light!
Angelic beings
Fold the remnants of defeat,
Bow low before their Maker,
Gaze up at his face, and smile;
For here, there is triumph
And no defeat.

Brilliant, burning light
Proclaims resurrection,
That He who lives and was dead
Is now alive for ever
And, with Him, all who are His;
For here, there is eternity
And no ending.

Brilliant, burning light
Spills past the moving stone
And presages the age
Of new-hearted people
Who can lift their heads:
For here, there is favour
And no shame.

Brilliant, burning light
For all the world to see.
The Light of Life and All People
Wrought in one act on one day
Everlasting peace:
For here, there is shalom,
And full salvation.

Copyright © 2009 Desmond Hilary

God’s Friday

Darkness rolls in.
A man weeps in a garden,
Pleading for release but
There is no escape.

Darkness rolls in.
Liberty, now captured,
Is carried away,
Betrayed by a kiss.

Darkness rolls in.
Witnesses lie on oath.
The Guardians of Justice
Condemn the Innocent.

Darkness rolls in.
The first beating is dealt.
Mockery and Humiliation
Pluck at his beard.

Darkness rolls in.
The Roman finds no fault
But condemns him still; soldiers
Flense him with whips.

Darkness rolls in.
The troops have their sport:
He is known as a king, so they
Crown him with thorns.

Darkness rolls in.
He is lead out to die
Like a common criminal,
Carrying his end.

Darkness rolls in.
Nails are driven home,
The hammering drowned by
An agony of cries.

Darkness rolls in.
The sun hides its face.
The man breathes his last.
His broken mother weeps.

Darkness rolls in.
Splattering in the dust,
The final drops of blood
Carry all our deaths.

Darkness rolls in.
Remains, wrapped in linen,
Lifeless, still, grown cold, are
Sealed in a tomb.

Darkness rolls in
And laughs in its triumph,
Then gasps and trembles, for
The Light is coming…

Copyright © 2008 Desmond Hilary