Poetry corner

Thoughts on Gethsemane

It’s cold tonight. It must have been cold on that night too, The bitter cold of eastern spring, Biting and crisp. The stars shine, bright, And one is brighter than the rest.

Is it the one that shone before To guide the Magi to the house To worship him, the child who would be King? Does Mary see it too? Does she recall that other night, The night of birth?

That night there was a shelter, warmth and light. Men worshipped, brought him gifts. The angels sang. Creation stood in awe. Tonight, no shelter, warmth or light. A garden on a hillside is the place The Son of God must wait. Alone. ‘Could you not watch one hour?’

How did he feel, the Son of God become a man? He’d left it all – the majesty, the throne, the power –And come to Earth to live as one of us, Kept only love, more love than man could ever show. He took on human form To feel as mortals feel. Love, anger, joy, he knew them all.

But now the worst, he shared our fear. He knew what was to come. The pain, humiliation, lingering death. He sweated blood, cried out to God, But made himself submissive to the

Father’s will. That night he knew it all – Desertion, loneliness and grief –Abandoned by his friends to pray alone, To watch and wait for that which had to come, Betrayal by a man he loved. He knew it all so he could share our pain. He knelt alone in that black cold As if the world were empty of all love.

So we are not alone, no matter what we feel. Our Lord is with us, suffering at our side. He lives again the heartbreak and despair Of that one night.

We cannot know the pain he felt. It is too great for man to comprehend. Yet he knows what we feel When friends desert us, cannot watch one hour. He stands beside us, reaching out his arms To hold us fast and keep us from despair. He will not fall asleep or let us down. We only need to touch him, let him in To heal our grief and pain.

Our Lord will come to comfort and console, To heal our wounds and drive away The dark night of the soul, our own

Gethsemane. He stands beside us, hears our cry. He listens to our prayer and brings us peace.

It may be dark and cold tonight But Christ will bring us light within.

ANN BUGLASS

In the Garden

Gethsemane was no ordinary garden. You could say it was more extraordinary As it was chosen for a purpose, For solace, for fortitude and more! It was chosen by the Master To define his humanity and divinity.

From the heart, Jesus made his prayer; A soul-searching, agonising declaration That would be remembered, By his disciples then And by all who follow him today.

As we pause to spend time in the garden, How should we pray? In the tranquility and solitude Our prayer must be one that declares Our allegiance to Christ; One that speaks from a selfless ambition.

Let us embrace his strength and grace That enable us to cry: ‘May your will be done.’

MAJOR STEPHEN NAYLOR

The Tree

They hung my Jesus on a tree, And from that tree he rescued me. His love poured out, It broke my heart; My Saviour suffered death for me.

His blood was spilt upon the ground, And my salvation there I found. ‘Forgive them Father, O, forgive, Let these poor sinners rise and live.’

Interred in a borrowed grave, The Lord, who came mankind to save, Had no possessions of his own But Heaven reserved a royal throne.

On the third day he rose to life, Victorious over death and strife, That from death’s grip we may be free And reign with him eternally.