Showing posts with label NT. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NT. Show all posts

Thursday, 13 April 2017

Martha of Bethany - Last Dinner

Last Dinner

Martha of Bethany

“Martha served.”
All I will be remembered for is my cooking.
My recipes have been passed on
from generation to generation,
and are now in my care.
My hospitality is my service to the Lord.
It is wrong to undervalue it.
Without my service,
there would have been no setting
for the dramas you now recollect every year.

That dinner was special…
There were no photos –
and I forget what we ate!
It was, however, the scene
of my sister’s sorrowing.
Her intuition confounded me.
She tended to him and I
tended to their witnesses.
This would become a story,
easily forgotten by most
and commemorated by others.

The smell of my fresh bread
and the aromas of the spices
disappeared when the nard was opened.
It was intoxicating and shocking.
I held my breath when I realized
what she was doing.
All I could think of was –
how right she was…
my sister – the prophet.

(John 12)

(C) 2017, A Koh-Butler

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Mary of Bethany - Betrayal

Betrayal

Mary of Bethany

Critical voices surfaced after the miracle.
What did they think? -
that our brother was a zombie?
Or a ghost?

We decided to prove otherwise,
by hosting a resurrection dinner.
He would stay, of course,
Jerusalem gets so crowded at this time of year
and he had a mostly crew with him.
Yes – we would host a dinner
to prove Lazarus is really alive…
To prove resurrection of body is possible.
Only One with power over life and death
could have done this thing.

Many came to believe,
Others did not -
They said they were paying respects,
but now we know…
They went ‘to tell on us’
like children ‘dobbing’.
Why?
What did they have to gain?

When they muttered and left,
we realized where they were going.
I had a premonition
and went to collect the rest of the nard
I had purchased for my brother’s burial.
I now knew what it was for…

(John 11:46-47)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Monday, 10 April 2017

Mary, wife of Cleopas of Emmaus (i)


Mary, wife of Cleopas (i)

Woman from Emmaus

What is a respectful distance?
Far enough not to hear
the struggle for breath?
Far enough not to see
the perspiration trickle down the tortured frame?
Or far enough to avoid
the kicks and beatings of the soldiers.

What is this dehumanizing
that comes with colonizing this empire?
What bile arises as we watch and grieve
for goodness hanging there? -
One day an artwork, to hang upon a wall?
This is not decorative, nor entertaining.

What is achieved?
The desire is terror…
to plant such fear within us
that his broken body
becomes our broken spirit.
How can anyone, even a prophet,
choose this?

What is my role,
but to bear witness to this darkness?
I would not let Cleo come,
for all the followers are in danger.
All of us fear to make the choice
that would draw us on so black a path.
I bade him hide
and I will bear the news to him
when it is done.

What does it mean
to be among such a crowd of women?
Our word means nothing in court of Law,
yet we are the ones to watch
and tell the eternal story of hate, and love,
of suffering and death.

(John 19:25)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Sunday, 9 April 2017

Mary and Martha of Bethany

Martha and Mary of Bethany

Palm Sunday

We went together with him
to Jerusalem.
(It was the time of gathering
at the Temple.)
On the way, he sent ahead
and there was a donkey.
(It was one of those brownish ones
and seemed friendly and calm.
It needed to be…
the crowds were noisy and excited
And they all wanted a piece of him.)
They called out and cheered.
Then, someone threw down his cloak
in front of the donkey -
and then others joined in…
cloaks, scarves, wraps….
lining the pilgrim’s route…
greeting him.
Others, who wanted to join in,
Stripped the palm trees  of their branches,
Laying the fronds down in criss-crossed patterns –
A green ‘red carpet’.
Some, took the palms and waved them,
Calling out and hailing him.

He rode in with dignity
And such love in his eyes.
It was hard to watch,
For we were fearful.
(So many things to fear these days.)

He went into the Temple.
And after he had pretty much caused a riot,
He got out of there so quickly,
We all missed him.

We went home…
And there he was…
Preparing the veggies for dinner…
So we both sat at his feet
And we all had a good laugh!

(Matthew 21:1-17)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Saturday, 8 April 2017

Salome (Mother of Zebedee's sons)

Salome
The Mother of Zebedee’s sons (Tending Dying)

I tried to support them.
They clung to me as we walked.
When we came to the place.
We stopped and stood.
His mother was praying,
Incomprehensible moans.
Magda simply fell to the ground,
Still clutching my robe.

I came with them,
but told my sons to go into hiding.
I cannot imagine what Mary feels.
Could I bear this… this torture?
Throughout history, women
have seen their sons and husbands die.
Girlfriends have mourned
the lost potential of their dreams.

Is this the lot of women -
To tend the dying and the dead?
I can prepare myself
for the passing of my own generation,
but not my sons – Lord no!
Let this not be my lot.
Let my James and John be safe.
Protect them, O Lord.

This poor boy…
So diligent in his prayers,
So faithful in his healing,
So wise in his teaching.
How can he be so hated?
How can this violence exist?
His steps to reach here
were so tormented.
His broken skin and pained face…
His eyes were almost empty
with focus and carrying shame.

But what shame could he carry?
the shame of violence and hate?
He touched people –
with hand and voice.
He spoke of love
and showed us how.
He traveled the country
reaching out to ordinary
and the unclean.

Now – he is the unclean
And there is nothing we can do
to bring him comfort or relief.
We pray for a swift end…
For moments of calm
In this nightmare.
Let it end.
Please God.
Let him find peace.

(Matthew 27:55-56) 
NRSV 27:55 Many women were also there, looking on from a distance; they had followed Jesus from Galilee and had provided for him. 56 Among them were Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James and Joseph, and the mother of the sons of Zebedee.

  © 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Bent-over Woman

The Bent-over Woman

That is how they know me…
“The Bent-over woman”
Never mind, I wasn't always that way.
I used to be tall and graceful and lovely,
Or so my aunties said.
Being bent involves
never looking directly at anyone,
Peering instead with a sideways twist.
Being bent involves different choices:
I can cook over a low fire,
but I cannot reach the clothes line.
I see the world at a different angle.
People speak over mr – literally.
I have to think about where I am going
And what time I am going there
As I cannot see in front of myself easily.
So, I plan ahead.

Going to the Synagogue on the Sabbath
Took a lot of planning.
No one expected me there.
No one expected me to walk out,
straight and tall, either.
They argued about the Sabbath,
But I just needed to see him…
The Healer.
I would have done or promised anything
And he asked for nothing.
I will honour him forever.

(Luke 13:10-17)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Thursday, 6 April 2017

Dorcas

Dorcas 

Carer for Widows

Come to the Gazelle OpShop!
I have made new clothes for you.
Do not stay at home, mourning your men.
Come! Be gowned with cloth of love.
Come! Be blessed, for we are here for you.
Do not be distressed! Find company here.
Here the widows are welcome.
For you are the daughters of God.

I will make you a new dress…
One to wear to market and town.
I will tailor it to fit your form,
For you are beloved of God.


Dorcas means Gazelle
(Acts 9:36-42)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Lois

Lois of Lystra

This is more of a monologue than a poem.
It could be used as part of a reflective service.

(Timothy’s Nana reflects)
___________________________

Ah – to be a mother!
Today I luxury in grandmother hood
No less difficult than how it came to be:
All hell broke loose that day -
When headstrong Eustace begged to wed.
A Greek marry a Jewess?
What of the purity of our faith?
How can purity survive Empire?

These are changing times…
Times of a new world order…
Times when lion and lamb and Greek and Jew
Lie down together!
No Hansonism in this household!

Wed, she did.
But, by what rites of compromise –
No-one really happy at mixed marriage.
We raised the cup of thanksgiving
And greedily ate olives…
Care was taken not to offend,
But mistakes were made
And forgiven.

When young Timmy came along
His father balked at the Covenant’s cut.
What would my husband have said?
We will never know.

When the Pharisee Followers spoke
We listened.
Stories of invitation
Brought us to waters of life.
Our heads were turned…
Timmy’s too.
A new Covenant did not the old rite require
But a washing and drowning and birthing
Symbol of water
Held blessing instead.

Eustace asked for my blessing…
What need a blessing?
I am coming with you.
We went to the waters together
Little knowing young Timmy’s call.
He grew in his prayers,
Deep and rich and full of life.
He cared for the poor and the widow.
He studied the prophets.

Then the Pharisee Follower came
And Timmy went with him.
A grandmother wonders at the world,
The future, the generations to come…
Little Timmy has been a good boy
And now he serve higher purpose.
I wonder at his life…
Visiting far away places.
I worry at his life…
Drawing attention from Rome.
I pray for this life and the next.
Amen….

(Acts 16:1 and 2 Timothy 1:5)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Monday, 3 April 2017

Anna

Anna  

This piece is ideally read by women from different generations.

As a girl, I nursed a doll.
It was made of homespun,
stuffed with sawdust.
We wondered at the world.
You may say my world was small,
But it contained plenty of hopes.
My doll and I -
We made dreams together.

As a maid, I nursed my broom.
I pushed and I flung it
at the corners of my world.
I wondered when the corners
would be those of my own.
But the place where I dwelt
contained my story of kin.
We made our name together.

As a woman, I nursed my home.
It suckled at my breast
entreating me to define the world.
My household looked to my definition
Of how we would understand the world.
But my hearth welcomed
Promises yet to come.
We prayed our longing together.
As I’ve aged, now full of years,
I wondered what was still left for me to do.
What still calls me in this world?
What glory waits for my attention?
I have seen disintegration of social fabric.
But occupied Jerusalem begs relief,
Messiah promised for us all.
We wait with expectation.

As a prophet, here I see
salvation in a newborn child.

(Luke 2:36-38)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Sunday, 2 April 2017

Mary and Lazarus (Tending Death - Part 2)

Tending Death (Mary)

I prepare the water steeped in fragrant herbs
And cannot tell - is this the water
From the place of our baptism?

I pass the towel, soaked and fresh
To wipe the signs of life and death
Away from carcass remnants.

I hold his arm as my sister cleans
And we both move in dance like caresses
Remembering better days and hours.

I weep. She mutters.
She bids me stay and tend, hurrying away...
I know not where to... or to whom...

(John 11:1-45)



(C) 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Friday, 31 March 2017

Martha, sister of Lazarus (Tending Death - Part 1)

Tending Death (Martha)

I wring the towel into the bowl
And cannot tell – is this the water that I drew
Or are these my salty tears?

Once again, I wipe his torso,
On which he wore the shirt I made
and spilled the wine on that first wearing.

I wipe his legs and recollect
the journeys to Jerusalem
on that dusty road…

I wipe his arm and in my memory
see the embrace for his guest – Our Lord!
What joy he had to welcome Him.

I bathe his shoulder – that carried us
these many years, through invaded times.
What will we do? Without you?

(John 11:1-45)



(C) 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Monday, 27 March 2017

Jairus' Daughter

Jairus’ daughter

When I grow up… I will be honoured,
As one who has been blessed - beyond blessing.
I will be given in marriage – but not just to anyone!

My father will seek a man who understands
the ways of the synagogue
the ways of the Law - And
the Way of the Messiah…
for I am the living proof
that he who came among us
raises the living from the dead.

When I grow up… I will be known,
not for what I achieve or what I will become…
but for this moment,
when I embodied the sign of Heaven on earth,
of the promise of life beyond life,
of fulfillment,
of hope.

When I grow up… and become full of years,
I will be remembered as a girl… vulnerable,
symbolizing lost potential
- and holy completion.

(Mark 5:21-43, Matthew 9:18-26, Luke 8:40-56)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Saturday, 25 March 2017

The Persistent Widow

Mme Persistence

(The Widow) 

Speak Up – Speak Up or Give Up!
If I cannot have justice from a judge,
I will not long be for this life.
If I am no longer for this life,
I will speak up to the Judge of all.
For if you will not give me justice now
How can I survive?
Perhaps I would not do so for myself,
But I have daughters to care for
And no-one to take us in.
If I do not speak up
I am giving up on my girls…
And not just mine,
but all girls for all time.

Are we worth so little,
That you can so easily ignore my plea?
Just remember, you were born of woman, too!

You must attend to my cause.
I seek only what is right and proper –
my generosity before my husband died
was something you praised and acknowledged well.

Is it so easy to forget –
this history of only a few weeks ago?
Just remember, your wife could be widowed, too!

Speak Up! I say – respond to truth!
Do you not believe the One we worship
Honours those who have served as faithful daughters,
mothers and wives?
Is it so easy to forget the women in your life?
Are there no widows in your family?
Who bore you?
And who bore her?
And what of your sisters?

Have you had enough?
It is not so easy for me to stop…
Not if my daughter cannot eat
because you are too slow to decide
my fate and hers.
Do you want our blood upon your conscience?

(Luke 18:1-5)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Tuesday, 21 March 2017

Salome

Salome

Finest of homespun is dyed many hue
So I might twirl in my dances for you
May my movements glisten as I spin
Chiffon flutters with shiny sequins.

Click, wink and flourish to rhythms I sway
Lunging and lifting, I point the way
Pricey, my dance, and more for my bed
Give me a gift of the prophet John’s head.

Strike up a band to play me a tune.
Give me the floor – give me the room.
Find me a pole to swing and to dip.
I’ll make me a killing with my next tip.

(The named ‘Salome’ is often identified with the dancer
in Mark 6:17-29 and Matthew 14:3-11.)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Sunday, 19 March 2017

Herodias

Ballet Mother


All those feathers and sequins!
And – ah – One….. Two….. Three….. Hop!
A little higher there – and
Nice feet! Nice turn!
Nice cheesy smile!

Dancing is an art and craft.
It moves hearts and other parts.
Seduction? Perhaps.
A bow, a glance, a twist, revealing flesh.

But flesh revealed on this occasion
is not the flashing dancer’s teeth
But, bloodied neck and pale visage
Belong to John, not Salome.

Oh daughter dear, how beautifully you dance.
Your flair belies the price to pay.
So ‘easy’ you make it look.
So ‘easy’ man can lose his life
For payment of a woman’s price.

My daughter is a star tonight.
She kills them in that dress.

(Herodias – Mark:17, Matthew 14:3-12, Luke 3:18-20)


© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Bernice

Tart


‘Tart’ - When traveling in Northern Ireland, every wonderful church and home I visited served the local speciality of Apple Tart… it was not an oversweet apple pie, but an apple and pastry construction with a good degree of ‘tart-ness’.  

Sweetness, turned sour,
from being left out and overused.
Gentle inclinations, turned bitter,
from too much attention.
Boldness, turned pushiness,
from too much temptation.
Love, turned lust,
from addiction to sex.

O Bernice, were you created for this?
O Child of Heaven, how your Parent weeps.
Why search for love in every other corner,
When love is found in heart of God for you.

How came you to long for so many embraces?
Were you abused? Rejected? Hurt?
Can you find no peace in your own company?
Or mine?
What drives you to such distraction?

Who provides for your understanding?
Who listens to your questions and your tales?
Do you have dreams beyond the presentation
of your body for the sake of others?
What more is there of you?

(Bernice – Acts 25:13, 23; 26:30)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Wednesday, 15 March 2017

Joanna

Joanna’s Company

Unknowing, I approached
to seek a new tomorrow.
Pain, I had carried,
Suffering and sorrow.
In his word and touch and glance
My energies renewed,
Among disciples, soon I grew.
The Company was good.
In my turning to the Lord
I found in him my shield.
In his cleansing, blessing love,
In mind and body, healed.

Unpracticed, I approached
To offer what I could.
To serve, my goal, in any way -
I hope he understood.
In my word and touch and glance
I hoped to pay the honour due.
With that Company of faith
We trod the path of Truth.
Toward the end, it was so hard
Safety, became the tempt
But on the final path to death
Our presence might have helped.

We women stayed to tend the broken
Our spirits shattered, sun turned dark.
The Romans watched the men depart.
The scene was blood and violence stark.
We waited until breathing ceased.
We grieved the Sabbath long with sobs.
Then came to tomb to do our work
But who is that who grave-site robs?
We met with angels – worlds broke open
Hearts leapt high and logic failed.
We ran to greet the Company:
Jesus lives – let Christ be Hailed!

(Joanna - Luke 8:1-3, 24:1-12)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Saturday, 11 March 2017

Bleeding Woman

Daughter of Faith

(I have always seen the stories of Jairus’ daughter and the bleeding woman were linked. Was the woman’s bleeding the result of a fistula following the birth of a child to Jairus? Others have speculated about their possible relationship. Whether mother and daughter, or representative of generations, these two females share a story re-enacted through the ages. Women are loved and advocated for. Women suffer and are lost. Jesus sacrifices power for the sake of both.)

At the market by the lake
Many voices pressing in.
I hold my wrap close around
So people cannot see my sin.
Jairus pushes forth and speaks
To the Master in distress.
Perhaps, I too, could talk to him
Or even simply touch his dress?

Immediately, I sense the change
And wonder at the present danger –
He calls me forth to testify
An unclean woman – female stranger.
Daughter! He names me new,
Claiming me as his own kin
Daughter! I become God’s child
Freed from guilt or shame or sin.

Many years ago I bore
A child of God, for whom I lost
All my blood of these twelve years.
She lived still, while I was gone,
For I left seeking healing’s tears.
Yet suffering’s freedom may only come
If true for her – next generation –
And so I pray, not just for me –
But for his daughter’s restoration.

At what point should we cease to seek
the restoration of our place?
Social standards may reject
and turn away from from seeing face.
We cannot recognise what’s human
if ‘standards’ call to make girls less.
So, we leave the suffering ones
To loneliness in their distress.

Community and social grace
Prevents us touching ‘unclean’ skin.
And so a cloak will have to do
To draw me back into God’s kin.
And God would have me in my state,
recognising faith revealed.
But will these people count me in
or is exclusion’s state still sealed?

(The woman with an issue of blood - Mark 5:25-34, Matthew 9:20-22, Luke 8:43-48) 

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Thursday, 9 March 2017

Lydia

Lydia – the inked lady

Stained my fingers, palms and wrists,
Hues soaked in from inky vats.
My business funds the faith of many,
Hope and promise, gladly shared.
Praised by people and Apostle
We cannot know the life we birth.
For centuries, this Asia Minor,
Will sing the songs we teach them now.
How many generations follow?
Reading our mail and telling our tale?
How many will take their fabrics of colour
To teach of the seasons and learn of the Way?
Return on investment – not yet to be seen,
But in gathered disciples in Heaven they’ll be.
Let the ink seep into my skin,
Like the writing of names into my being.
Let unknown names be written within
So I may bear witness with clouds to them.


© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Wednesday, 8 March 2017

Samaritan Woman

Woman of Sychar

Between the mountains of curses and blessings
We hold the memory of prophets and kings.

I follow the footsteps of Dinah’s shaming
To draw water for cooking and washing small-things.

Like Dinah, the men in my life led to naming
That I could not wed a husband of mine.

Yet lonely I’m not for I live with another
I survive with whoever is there at the time.

For such is the life of Samaria’s woman
That during the day I would go to the well.

I am met and conversed with – by a Messiah!
My story he details and chooses to tell.

We joust with our words in long repartee -
A dialogue given for many to comment.

His wisdom and care lightens my spirit.
Somehow I know I am called to speak out.

I run into town to tell all and sundry –
Here is good news – let there be no doubt.

I follow Him now – and will do so forever
Join with me in song – Join with me to shout:

Hosanna! Hosanna! The Lord is come!

(Samaritan Woman at the Well – John 4)  

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler