Biblical Inspiration for Poetry
This weekend officially begins Holy Week for Christians. Today is Palm Sunday, celebrating the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem to free Jews and Gentiles alike from the slavery of sin and death. Wednesday also begins Passover, celebrating the exit of Jews following Moses from Egypt to free themselves from physical bondage under pharaoh. Both journeys exemplify sacrifice, security, and triumph.
Biblical stories have often been an inspiration to writers and poets, whether as allusions or as inspiration for retelling in new light. Since Holy Week is the focal point of the liturgical year for Christians, it is natural for its imagery and narrative to play an important role in secular work as well.
As a poet, I have been moved to capture some of the essence of Holy Week into a few poems over the years. The first for your consideration is inspired by the story of Lazarus.
Yesterday was Lazarus Saturday, perfect beginning to Holy Week, commemorating the story of Jesus’ raising his friend from a death four days old. Approaching the burial place, Christ is said to have wept and prayed before he bid onlookers to roll back the stone blocking the entrance. He then called, “Lazarus, come out!” When the man appeared in the entranceway still wrapped in his burial habiliments, Jesus said, “Unbind him. Let him go.”
Lazarus may just represent any people who are wrapped tightly in the rules of yesterday which bind them as though in death in their relationship with the God who loves them. Their former ways must die so that they might be raised in new light, freed from the bonds of the past. I chose to present things from Lazarus’ perspective, adding emphasis to his humanity because he has been given a second chance at life.
Lazarus Comes Out
“... Jesus called out in a loud voice,
‘Lazarus, come out!’...” John 11:43
You arouse me
from tattered dreams of grief.
I rise, rapt, unraveling,
gravely aching for simplicity:
an utterly untethered kiss,
a warm sip of morning,
some small revelation of heaven.
You weave a spell of flaxen moonlight
from spun, evocative, divine lunacy;
yet, I want to strip off this linen,
melt into the silk of a lover’s touch,
and loosen one heart with my song.
I am too lame to speak,
too blind to understand
your invitation to live or my urge
to dance instead with the dying.
Holy Thursday celebrates the Last Supper at which Jesus models what we can do to remember that He became flesh and blood. Since I was a child, I have always been fascinated with the story of what happened later, after the meal, in the Garden of Olives, or Gethsemane. Jesus had to face his fear and realized he had to do it alone, except for turning things over to a higher will.
I couldn’t believe, as a youngster, that one of Jesus’ friends could betray him. And, that He would simply allow destiny to unfold, even in light of an impending death by crucifixion. My attempt to capture the import of the event follows.
Blood from Wine
Gethsemane offers little peace as you
soliloquize in a thirst to persevere.
Friends leave you at the teeth of faith,
to contemplate the potential of miracle.
Uttering incantations over possibility,
you're abandoned to hell's self-reliance.
Comrades cluster under a tree like rocks
around a crucifix or beneath a temple.
A smug pair concelebrate destiny
and despair with a laugh and a kiss.
You see from the dust you will leave,
poets unseal the word left for dead,
reveal the wine shelved behind a stone,
fill each vessel with poems of blood.
Please send your poetry and comments to michaeljhoover@gmail.com. Archived columns can be found at hooverpoet.com or eveningsun.com. Have a blesséd week!
This weekend officially begins Holy Week for Christians. Today is Palm Sunday, celebrating the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem to free Jews and Gentiles alike from the slavery of sin and death. Wednesday also begins Passover, celebrating the exit of Jews following Moses from Egypt to free themselves from physical bondage under pharaoh. Both journeys exemplify sacrifice, security, and triumph.
Biblical stories have often been an inspiration to writers and poets, whether as allusions or as inspiration for retelling in new light. Since Holy Week is the focal point of the liturgical year for Christians, it is natural for its imagery and narrative to play an important role in secular work as well.
As a poet, I have been moved to capture some of the essence of Holy Week into a few poems over the years. The first for your consideration is inspired by the story of Lazarus.
Yesterday was Lazarus Saturday, perfect beginning to Holy Week, commemorating the story of Jesus’ raising his friend from a death four days old. Approaching the burial place, Christ is said to have wept and prayed before he bid onlookers to roll back the stone blocking the entrance. He then called, “Lazarus, come out!” When the man appeared in the entranceway still wrapped in his burial habiliments, Jesus said, “Unbind him. Let him go.”
Lazarus may just represent any people who are wrapped tightly in the rules of yesterday which bind them as though in death in their relationship with the God who loves them. Their former ways must die so that they might be raised in new light, freed from the bonds of the past. I chose to present things from Lazarus’ perspective, adding emphasis to his humanity because he has been given a second chance at life.
Lazarus Comes Out
“... Jesus called out in a loud voice,
‘Lazarus, come out!’...” John 11:43
You arouse me
from tattered dreams of grief.
I rise, rapt, unraveling,
gravely aching for simplicity:
an utterly untethered kiss,
a warm sip of morning,
some small revelation of heaven.
You weave a spell of flaxen moonlight
from spun, evocative, divine lunacy;
yet, I want to strip off this linen,
melt into the silk of a lover’s touch,
and loosen one heart with my song.
I am too lame to speak,
too blind to understand
your invitation to live or my urge
to dance instead with the dying.
Holy Thursday celebrates the Last Supper at which Jesus models what we can do to remember that He became flesh and blood. Since I was a child, I have always been fascinated with the story of what happened later, after the meal, in the Garden of Olives, or Gethsemane. Jesus had to face his fear and realized he had to do it alone, except for turning things over to a higher will.
I couldn’t believe, as a youngster, that one of Jesus’ friends could betray him. And, that He would simply allow destiny to unfold, even in light of an impending death by crucifixion. My attempt to capture the import of the event follows.
Blood from Wine
Gethsemane offers little peace as you
soliloquize in a thirst to persevere.
Friends leave you at the teeth of faith,
to contemplate the potential of miracle.
Uttering incantations over possibility,
you're abandoned to hell's self-reliance.
Comrades cluster under a tree like rocks
around a crucifix or beneath a temple.
A smug pair concelebrate destiny
and despair with a laugh and a kiss.
You see from the dust you will leave,
poets unseal the word left for dead,
reveal the wine shelved behind a stone,
fill each vessel with poems of blood.
Please send your poetry and comments to michaeljhoover@gmail.com. Archived columns can be found at hooverpoet.com or eveningsun.com. Have a blesséd week!