Words of the Cross

As a young sapling, I had always heard

rumors rustling in the leaves

about a "Tree of Life" in some wonderful glen

guarded by an angel against the Adams and Eves.

 

For decades passing, I grew upright and strong

in the forest where God put me,

swaying in the wind and dancing in the breeze

and all the other things that are typical for trees.

 

But one day, O wretched evil day,

to the forest, the sharp ax came

to bring me to the moment, the sad, sad moment

of Jerusalem s greatest shame.

 

My wood was hewn and chopped away

until I was a mere post, nothing more.

I was taken outside into the light of the sun,

this darkest of moments I ll always abhor.

 

O evil day that my Creator was burdened,

crippled and stumbling under my weight.

You gave me life decades ago.

Now I repay You with this terrible fate.

 

Your precious blood from Your beaten back,

The sweat on Your hands and Your falling tears,

seeped deep into my soul and I sank deep in despair

as the crowd surrounded You with taunts and jeers.

 

You stumbled and You fell, my Loving One,

as they mocked You with words of hate.

But Simon was there then to carry me,

a very small mercy to celebrate.

 

We arrived at last at the place called the Skull

and the nails were driven deep

I felt Your hands and I heard Your pain,

they hoisted us up and I heard Mary weep.

 

Just days ago, sweet Lord and Creator,

I held out my branches, stretching them high.

But wretched am I, O, now wretched am I

to have to hold You today against Golgotha sky.

 

I said, "Forgive me, Lord, for this evil thing

that I am forced to do."

With loving words, I heard Him say

"This is why God created you."

 

"In what other way could these children of mine

ever escape this world of evil and strife?

You see, dear tree, you are no longer just wood.

You have become the Tree of Life."

 

With these words my Lord gently said,

I regained all my strength and my pride

and for the long hours that eventually passed

I held my dear Lord til he died.

 

No longer a sapling, I will always tell

a story to rustle in the leaves

about a "Tree of Life" on a fateful hill

holding an angel, for the sake of the Adams and Eves.

 

Poem written by Sista Julia Dawn Ryan

 

 

 

Don't forget to read the Scripture of the Day!!

 

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Last updated: Wednesday, March 14, 2001 11:42 AM