If Judas Knew
If Judas knew,
that mercy was there,
offered long before the err,
rising higher than the bars sin set.
If he knew of her incessant tides
pouring always from the Saviour’s heart.

If Judas knew,
that on that dark crucifixion day
while Jesus breathed his last,
there outstretched were mercy’s arms,
even though they pierced his side.
Loving mankind
when we all still were lost.

If Judas remembered
those days he sat by the Lord,
and heard the recount of “the prodigal son”
If only he of the inner circle believed
that breathtaking analogy
of the Father’s love for him.

If Judas reflected
that giveaway night at Gethsemane.
Not his carnal trade of friendship
but his master’s heart of mercy,
that healed the fallen ear
Would Christ not have restored a fallen friend?

If only Judas recalled,
that mercy is there so no man be lost.
That those 20 silver pieces were not
the real reason Christ let himself be hung.
A naked Jesus on that stake of shame
was a ransom to clear your name.
A new serpent, this time of grace,
to look to irrespective of fails.

Judas may not have known.
For if he did,
he would, like Peter, have wept in remorse
and found his seat at that table again.
He’d never have drawn an X across his head
or his very soul condemn.

Because mercy was there, calling…
If only he answered…

 

 

Resurrection Chronicles
(i) The First Start…
                   (a) The Plan.
                         The good intention. Eden.
                         Life with beauty and fullness laden.
                         Proximity to the Creator.
                         Comradeship with love’s author.
                  (b) The fall.
                        The fruit. Temptation.
                        The victory of forbidden lure over man’s will,
                        then, now. That intrinsic mortality.
                        Essence of humanity.
                 (c) The Condemnation.
                        Verdict for the fall.
                        Punishment for sin. Consequence of a moment
                        to be borne by generations upcoming.
                        The fight for justice by hell’s strongholds.
                        “the fallen belong to us”
                 (d) The interruption.
                        By mercy. Sacrifice of Himself.
                        Ransom of love, for love, out of love.
                        Willing acceptance of himself to be poured
                        out as a libation to set us free…
                 (e) The journey.
                        To that gruesome cross of shame.
                        The excruciating torture.
                        The crown of thorns he received,
                        even though he had the power to revoke.
                        The quiet reception of condemnation
                        He carried the weight of my damnation.
                (f) The black hole.
                       Three days lying in that grave,
                       rotting in my place.
                       The clock ticking, the world awaited.
                       A fight seemingly lost
                       but the battle was still to be won.
               (g) The victory.
                      The defeat of death by life,
                      darkness by light.
(ii) The New Start…
      (a) Redemption.
             The bridge for crossover
             from perish to sanctification’s embrace.
             Bleeding wounds catered, dry bones rising,
             comfort to every grieving Magdalene.
             The new birth. Eden recreated.
     (b) The Glory.
            Of His crowning.
            King of life, defeater of death.
            The gift. A promise, which was kept,
            of a helper, the Paraclete.
            My life of power. One without fear.
    (c) This new dawn.
           Its implication.
           The dependability of His love
           and assurance of His promise.
           The beauty and fullness of a life like this,
           a resurrected life.
           The immortality of it.

 

 

Everlasting and Unconditional.

Mockery locked him in an embrace.
Stripped of dignity, garment and grace.
Subject to humiliation and scornful stares.
He was ripped of all but His love for me.
A love he held on to, even then.
for hurt couldn’t condition it’s depths.

A yoke like the mountains, the one he bore
The yoke of the lover who stroke him to fall.
The seed that died into the ground
so its germination could birth me new life.
The light of that love that suffering and dying
could not surpass or outshine.

The gift of himself on Vero’s towel,
long before the cross.
A merciful response in her time of need,
to his own wounds, he paid no heed.
That offering of sacrifice of self,
The awe of a love that pain could not contend.

The assuring promise of paradise
given to one the world had condemned to die.
Love that interrupted the despicable destiny of a “thief”.
Love not reduced by the size of my sin.

From as old as creation.
where this love first began.
Through to the cross’ victory,
into a forever where it will always be.

Through cares, tears and nights
Present every single time
a love everlasting and unconditional.
For you and for me.

 

Glennise Ayuk, a sixth year medical student of the University of Buea, Cameroon, where she live and write from. She is also the apple of God’s eye. You can reach her via email ayukglennise@gmail.com.