The Garden Walk

Mary's encounter with Jesus at the tomb has been on my mind for a while. Tonight, I read a poem by Graham Oakes called 'Come and see' , describing Mary's encounter with Jesus after his rising from the dead (Hallelujah!!). The verse that particularly struck me is as follows:

'"Mary", was all she had to hear
she knew, at once, her Lord was near.
Here in the Garden, at her side,
and here she ever would abide.'

Thus, I found myself powering-on my ibook to write a poem from the 3rd person, watching events unfold. Because, we have all walked, or are walking the paths of this garden, searching.

The Garden Walk

Along these garden paths she treads,
with burden of a heavy heart;
the cherished joy of hers lies dead
why must this pain taste so tart?

She stumbles on, forces herself on,
but why this gruesome fate?
Butchered for some trumped-up charge
why exchange such love for hate?

His life was one of love and peace
a light to the dark he brought.
Yet now the light of all her life
rests in a cell, by darkness wrought

The tomb draws near, such darkness there;
such darkness in my heart.
But what of her, when he’s laid to rest?
What’s then to be her part?

The tomb is there, but no guard she sees,
no cold stone denies her way.
Her master’s body now not there,
where once she knew he lay.

What trick is this? Who can be so cruel?,
her heart aloud does cry.
This one last thing she sought to do
but e’en this task now seems denied.

Stumbling from the open tomb,
she barely sees the man,
patiently waiting, not far from her
with love as only he can.

At last she looks, he comes to sight,
‘Where lies my lord’, she cries.
‘Mary’, comes his statement back.
‘Master’, she replies.

And in that moment, it suddenly dawns,
he never truly died;
‘though taken to a wooden cross
and brutally crucified.

For death, it could not hold him,
his power was too great.
The Father made the son to rise,
and save us from our fate.

Such love as this cannot be quenched;
our Father’s for his son.
That through his death, our lives he bought,
and now in him are one.

He calls aloud to each of us,
for all he knows by name.
But have we called him ‘Master’,
when he has called our name?