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

The Making of Me

One life is all I have.
What will I do with it?

I could make the most of it:
Indulge myself and seek out pleasure,
Take what I want wherever I can get it,
Give nothing out except to my advantage,
Use whoever and whatever,
Every appetite to gratify;
Then, at the end, look back
And revel in the making of ME!

One life is all I have.
What will I do with it?

I could make the best of it:
Deny myself and lay up treasure,
Give all I can to those who truly need it,
Take nothing to another’s disadvantage,
Use myself and all I am,
Others’ real needs to satisfy;
Then, past the end, look back
And marvel at the making of me.

One life, two ways
To spend my days,
When fullness means empty
Or nothing means all,
Where one ends in silence,
The other shouts loud.

One life is all I have.
What will I do with it...?

Copyright © 2009 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

Piercing the Darkness

A star appears and shines on high, 

Intrigues wise men and draws them nigh 

By light gone forth across the sky 

And piercing the darkness. 

 

Strange beings in the air appear 

With stunning news that thrills the ear, 

That sends poor shepherds to revere 

The light that shines in darkness. 

 

Who suckles at this mother’s breast, 

This cuckoo in another’s nest? 

This man-child, God made manifest, 

Brings light into the darkness. 

 

High over all and robed in light, 

Almighty God perceived our plight, 

Removed his garb and, on that night, 

Stepped down into our darkness. 

 

With his appearance – long foretold 

In puzzles penned by men of old – 

Begins the battle to unfold 

To rescue us from darkness. 

 

This fragile and audacious plan, 

Cast in the confines of a man, 

By enigmatic forfeit can 

Forever banish darkness. 

 

So pause a while to look, and see 

This reckless love for you and me, 

This sense-defying mystery, 

That saves us from the darkness. 

 

Come, bow in awe before your King, 

Who stripped Himself of everything 

For us eternal life to bring – 

All light and naught of darkness. 

 

Copyright © 2008 Desmond Hilary

Hope

A thin wish that something might turn up?
A vague feeling that it may be all right in the end?

A baby who will change the world.
A man raised from the dead.

The eager expectation of things that are certain.
Knowing that, come what may, all shall be well.

An inner resilience.
An anchor in Heaven.

Copyright © 2008 Desmond Hilary

The Fear of Not Having Enough

The bread is stale,
Its few remaining slices
Green with mould;
Its dankness fills the air.
A bitter, empty wind
Threads through a tottering fence.
Pharaoh’s last, wizened cow
Would bellow its woe
Had it strength enough.

The eagle soars,
Oblivious to dearth,
Its vision attuned
To its realm’s bounty.

O, to be that monarch of the skies;
To fly away and beyond
To Cornucopia’s shore
Where lack alone is wanting…
One day, my child, you shall fly
Far beyond the eagle’s range.
One day, my child, riches will abound
But, until then, I Am with you
And enough is enough.

Copyright © 2008 Desmond Hilary

Notes on 'Welcome!'

This was written for a church writing project, and is a departure from my usual style: it doesn't rhyme or scan (except by accident), and is not humorous (actually, there is a serious side to my personality, which I allow out at appropriate times). The poem is about one of the 12 values of our church, which seeks to be, 'a Christian community that ... is welcoming and warm - trusting that new people find a spiritual home that is full of kindness and encouragement.'

The whole of my effort for this project is available on the Faith section of my bloggery.

Welcome!

Welcome!
Not just, ‘Good morning,’
Or, ‘How do you do?’
But, Honoured Guest,
In this, our special place,
There is a special place for you.
Here, there is peace and sanctuary;
A place to be your genuine self
Without prejudice or distinction.
Come, bask in the warmth of love,
Enjoy respect for who you are;
Your unique presence
Completes our company.
When you leave,
Go with our peace,
And plan to return.

If, among us, you find
Meaning and Purpose, then
Stay.

Share with us in
Joy or sorrow,
Failure or success,
Victory or defeat.
Grow with us;
Become one with us
And find belonging,
And acceptance.

For we are family, related by Blood
And always there is room at the Table
For another.

Copyright © 2008 Desmond Hilary