The Mystery of the Ascension

The Mystery of the Ascension
Ascension Day: Acts 1:1-11, Luke 24:44-53
There on the mountain top they find him gone –
gone up, gone out, drawn in beyond our sight.
Some doubt, some worship, hide and wait, move on;
some wish to stay forever on the height.

Was incarnation nothing but a play?
Is God restored to God’s transcendent state
where human flesh no longer has a say?
Some judge God dead or tardy as they wait.

Is God now absent, or so deep within
our world, that we can live Christ’s way?
Are we abandoned, or made more akin?
Do we become Christ’s body in our day?

No techno-marvel, nor a magic wand,
transported Jesus to some other place:
whatever happened draws this world beyond
the bounds of finite life and time and space.

How limited our skies and straining eyes!
We peer beyond this day and night of earth;
beyond the cloud we guess at God’s surprise:
Christ’s Second Coming, New Creation’s birth.
	Barbara Messner (2005?)

Remembered Words

Remembered Words
Easter 6; John 14:23-29
I wonder, if I saw the end in sight,
what words of comfort, stretching like a rope
across the threat of absence, would hold tight
the truth that helps us walk the slippery slope?
At that Last Supper, Jesus knew the plight
that day would bring. He tried to offer hope,
reminding them that God is love and light,
and if they love each other they will cope.
Did they remember that on bad Friday?
He promised peace, his peace that calms the heart,
and said the Spirit, guide to show the way,
would come to them, although he must depart.
I wonder in their overwhelming grief
if those remembered words brought them relief?
	 Barbara Messner 16/05/2022 

Paradox

Paradox
Easter 5; John 13:31-35
When Judas left and walked into the night,
and Jesus knew that he would be denied,
betrayed, abandoned to his plight,
he said that he and God were glorified.
It seems a paradox to human eyes
that glory is revealed in pain and death,
but this is the transformative surprise
of new creation, shaped by Spirit breath.
He spoke of love to friends about to fail:
“Love one another as I love you all.”
His love will bear the shock of driven nail,
and theirs the grief of loss and shame of fall.
He died with arms stretched wide in love’s embrace,
breathed out in his last breath God’s gift of grace.
	Barbara Messner 11/05/2022

Season Break

Season Break
One day, windy in mid-autumn,
the bush was wild in flail of fall.
Dead leaves sacrificed to drought
skittered and whirled across the road,
and hills were blurred with dust and smoke.
I felt the threat and promise of change
in ragged clouds and restless wind.

Old farmers here say season break
comes after Anzac Day, memorial
to the cost and tragedy of war.
This time we know new floods of tears
and anger flow for the Ukraine,
as brutal power, immune to human pain,
is causing blood to soak the earth again.

The workers may have paused for Easter break,
but did they recognize Christ’s pain and promise,
or look for signs of fresh growth after storms,
as green shoots rise among the littered leaves?
Here farmers sowed in hopes of inundation,
and we have sung the songs of resurrection.
O let the Spirit come and shake the walls,
and lend us tongues of fire to stir the nations.
	Barbara Messner 7/05/2022

Tell Us Plainly

Tell us Plainly
Easter 4; John 10:22-30
There’s some who want a label, clearly stated,
so they can judge and file this case away.
The evidence of deeds is under rated,
and mystery ignored on every day.
If Jesus said, “For sure, I’m God’s Messiah!”
they’d call it blasphemy and want him dead,
dismiss him as deluded or a liar,
and heap their scorn upon his thorn-bound head.
For Word made flesh, we have selective hearing:
we know him if we recognize his voice,
but how, amidst the doom-sayers we’re fearing,
can people tune their ears to make that choice?
Believing grows with willingness to follow,
for truth is pilgrimage and facts are hollow.
	Barbara Messner 4/05/2022

Breakfast on Shifting Sand

Today my long service leave ended and I am officially retired. I have been feeling rather raw all week, wanting to pull the blankets over my head, or some such equivalent of going fishing! As I woke up today this poem started to come to me.

Breakfast on Shifting Sand
Easter 3: John 21:1-19
Like Peter – raw – I cover too
before I leap and swim to you.
Whatever stripped me in the night
would surely draw your probing sight,
and after breakfast on the shore
your questions search me to the core.

Though I’ve denied, my love is strong –
Give me your trust, let me belong.
I felt so weak I had to weep,
yet I was called to feed your sheep,
and for your sake I sought the source,
and tended flocks and stayed the course.

I know that when I heed your voice
I draw in more than at my choice.
As I grow old, what comes to me?
I fear the time I won’t be free
to do what I might long to do,
but still in love I’ll follow you.
	Barbara Messner 1/05/2022

Saul on the Road to Damascus

Saul on the Road to Damascus
Easter 3; Acts 9:1-20
There vision failed him and his old self died.
“Why do you persecute me, Saul?” Christ said.
His zeal, thrown in the dust, will rise again,
devoted to the work of Christ instead.
Simply awesome, isn’t it:
when one so sure of being right
sees mystery increased?
Here’s new life strange as any myth
where gold, we’re told, is spun from straw,
and love transforms the beast.
 
The risen Christ has overturned Paul’s world
as though the earth had shifted in its place.
His prior learning came to seem a shape
reflected dimly, now seen face to face.
Simply awesome, isn’t it:
as though magnetic north has flipped
and compasses turned round?
Here’s new life strange as under sea
with creatures dancing in the deep
to whale song so profound.              
 
Free now to be Christ’s fool, he changed his name
from Saul to Paul, and re-assessed his pride
to boast of weakness partnered with Christ’s strength.
Now faith not law will see him justified.
Simply awesome, isn’t it:
how dry dead seed that’s lost in earth
can spring up to the skies?
Here’s new life strange as prophecy,
for male or female, slave or free
are equal in Christ’s eyes.

Paul spoke to one and all of life transformed:
how sight was lost in light and then restored.
His tunnel vision opened to the one
he once despised, who now became his Lord.
Simply awesome, isn’t it:
that Christ should love this enemy 
and call him to new birth?
Here’s new life hard as labour pains,
as all creation groans to bring
new heaven and new earth.
     Barbara Messner c. 2014 revised 2019, 2022

Encountering the Risen Christ

Encountering the Risen Christ
Easter 2; John 20:11-31
Mary’s tears fell in the garden.
Someone said, “Whom are you seeking?”
Mary thought he was the gardener:
deeper truth in that was speaking.
When he called her name, she knew him,
rose, commissioned at his bidding
as apostle to apostles,
though her culture was forbidding.

Jesus came to those in hiding,
breathed on them the new creation,
gift of peace and Holy Spirit,
sent them out in fresh elation.
Absent Thomas, locked in grieving,
spurned their joy and their insisting.
Jesus showed his wounds, said: “Touch them!”
Thomas cried - no more resisting!

So when I am locked in darkness,
cannot recognize you, risen,
come to me and name and call me,
set me free from self-made prison.
Show your wounds and bid me touch them,
so I share the pain of caring.
Breathe in me new life and spirit,
peace that gives me strength for daring.
	Barbara Messner 19/04/2022

Holy Week on Holiday

Holy Week on Holiday

Here in this quiet space, the sea sounds ease:
its restless growl now soothes like curled cat’s purr.
The surges striking rocks here calm and please
with soft repeated strokes like smoothing fur;
yet walking on the shore in wind like knives
I felt the power in every foaming curl.
Spray bursts and falls; the sculpted rock survives
until it’s undermined by water’s swirl.
This Holy Week, my part is set aside –
no marathon of services to face.
No words of mine need show the mounting tide
of force abusing sacrificial grace.
Yet cross and empty tomb will have their say;
their muted message still shifts stones away.
	Barbara Messner 14/04/2022

Good Friday Sonnet

Good Friday Sonnet

Suspended on the cross, he lived the death
that looms before us all upon a hill.
We all must face the halting of our breath,
the mortal muscles of our heart will still.
Is this the prospect cringing in our breast
that makes us all complicit in the kill,
resenting limits keeping life compressed,
while God is bounded only by God’s will?
We mortals want to bring the boundless down
to meet us in the tragedy we share,
not seeing that that bird’s already flown –
God chose to die to meet us where we are.
Forgiving of our human spite, Christ died
with open arms to keep the heavens wide.
Barbara Messner Easter 2018