At His Feet Part One


At His Feet 

A Triptych for Holy Week

Part One:

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In Bethany

While his Words of Life flowed

Over my head and into open hearts,

I contemplated the scars and calluses

Created over a lifetime of treading stony tracks.

 

Seated like a stone in the same room

And surrounded with sympathetic murmuring,

I fear my heartache will escape

As accusation, “I thought he loved us?”

 

Falling at his feet my betraying sobs whisper,

“You could have been here.”

While his tears anoint my head with mercy,

His voice calls the dead to life.

 

Gratitude pours from this broken vessel.

A fragrant offering applied with an

Urgency that banishes discretion

With a need to bless him before he’s gone.

 

 

I am Mary

I am Mary

Yielding,

I abandoned childish things

And took up a life of

Motherhood, misery and mercy

He calls me Mother

I am Mary of Nazareth

 

Listening,

I pushed aside the ought-tos

Taking my place at his feet

Bending, blessing and becoming.

He calls me Little One

I am Mary of Bethany

 

Weeping,

I surrendered to his love,

Letting him take away the stranglehold

Of pain, poison, and prison bars.

He calls me Delivered

I am Mary of Magdala

 

Witnessing,

We followed him

As we’d always done, always would,

From golgotha, to grave, to garden.

He calls us His own

We are Mary

Renae Meredith