Mary, Wife of Cleopas - Part 2

Mary, Wife of Cleopas (of Emmaus)

Part 2

Where is home
when there is no longer heart?
How shall we return
to try to live as if anything could be the same?
Our hearts are destitute with broken shards…
Sorrow upon sorrow,
Grief upon grief,
Tears upon tears…
What is left?

Where will this road take us?
Will Emmaus still be the Lord’s,
when Rome has stamped itself
upon our most sacred of stories
and our rites and rituals?
Our hearts drift
between frustration and anger…
Where is our help
when we long to strike back?
Blow after blow,
kick after kick,
Strike after strike…
Where is hope?

Who is this stranger?
He knows so little of the last days.
Then he reframed our story.
He went back – teaching,
explaining slowly,
so we could follow.
Our hearts burned
with wonder and delight
to find a rabbi whose message
was full and rich and life-giving…
Here was good news!
Insight upon insight,
Hope upon hope,
Joy upon Joy…
Give us more?

What more can you tell us?
Sup with us, please.
Gift us with your presence.
We would have more of this good news.
Our hearts sang with delight
when he accepted our hospitality.
Then we arrived in Emmaus
and I prepared the meal.
We asked him for a blessing
and then we realized
the hospitality was his…
Bread of His Body,
Cup of His Covenant,
Life from His Death…
Eternity revealed.

(Luke 24:13-35)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Mary Magdalene

Approaching the Tomb

Mary of Magdala

It is quiet.
Away from the weeping
and the brokenness of home.
The Sabbath was so difficult.
How could we pray the prayers of adoration?
We did, but choking on the words
And despairing at the responses.
The candles seemed foreign.
They are defiant symbols here now.
Our life, our hope, our heritage –
All seems lost in the Roman hell,
Where even our own
Turn their backs on the Lord.
So much for John’s words of repentance!

Carrying the aromatics,
I stumble along.
I wonder if he knew I would do
this one last act for him?
I hope he drew some comfort
from our love, from knowing
we stayed to the end.

Who walks among the tombs?
It is not Joseph the Arimithean…
Only gravediggers and gardeners around here.
I feel like telling them to “go away”
and leave us in quiet,
But I fear we may need help with the stone.
It was heavy and took strength to put in place.
I keep my eye out to see if the poles are there
To help us leverage that rock.

Behold! It is rolled aside!
No – my Lord – who has desecrated your resting?
We approach and discover he is gone.
This holy hole is empty and bereft,
Much like our spirits.

I must find Peter.
He will know what the Lord would want.
Peter and the others return with me.
Their eyes see what I have seen.
They run away and leave me there.

I start to sob.
A couple of gasps at first.
Then the weeping comes.
My body shakes
with the anger and frustration
of this moment and of all the moments
of the last days.
Every fibre of my being is shaking
with the torment.
Is there any way to honour him now?

“Woman, why are you weeping?” comes the voice.
What would the gardener know of this pain?
What would he know?
What might he know
Of who has been here?
Perhaps he can help.

“They have taken away my Lord,
and I do not know where they have laid him,”
I pushed out, in between sobs.
I was prepared to plead, hoping he knew.
The voice belonged to a man who repeated,
“Woman, why are you weeping?
Whom are you looking for?”
I tried to beg him,
“Sir, if you have carried him away,
tell me where you have laid him,
and I will take him away.”
Then, he spoke again, saying my name.
“Mary!”
My breathing stopped.
My tears stilled.
The my body erupted as I cried out to him,
“Rabbouni!”
He stepped back,
not letting me touch him yet,
claiming his time was still coming.
I could not reach and I could not move.
Now… it didn't matter.
Lazarus was not the only body to rise.
Today the Lord has changed all things.
Today life is different.
Today is the beginning of the rest of time.

(Matthew 28:1, Mark 16:9, Luke 24:1-12, John 20:1-18)

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

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

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

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

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

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