Mary

A poem

Mary

A woman sobbed in the Garden

And in the dirt she sat.

A Sadder sight, I never saw,

Then May doing that.

A wretched and sorrowed woman,

Who survived by lovers’ gains.

A broken and despised woman,

Who cried alone in pain.

As she wept in the tomb yard,

She remembered that day,

When sorrowed by her sin

He washed it all away

She heard He was to come to town,

She grabbed her jar of perfume, smelling sweet.

She came broken and trembling,

She came crying to His feet.

She poured out her precious jar,

And wiped His feet with her hair.

She gave her best offering;

The sweet aroma filled the air.

And with every costly drop,

She poured out her soul,

To the One that came to save her,

To the One of great miracles.

Then at the table, His hosts and friends

Began to grumble and complain,

“Why is this woman here,

The one who’s even soul is stained?”

But He told them to be quiet,

His eyes so full of love.

“Your sins are forgiven,

By the One who is from above.”

And ever since that day,

Mary stuck close by,

Which was why she was here,

Because He had to die.

Today was the third day.

Since they drove those nails into His hands,

Mary could not forget it,

She relived it over and over again.

She and other women,

Went to His tomb with ointments and balms,

Sickly, she looked at her own hands,

Her scarless wrists and palms.

She was scared of what she would find there,

All the guards that stood around. 

But they weren’t there,

His body was not to be found.

The women wailed in anguish,

That some one stole Him away.

Mary ran to find Peter;

The dawn was pink and grey.

Peter and John raced to the tomb,

The door was open wide.

The linen was folded neatly,

And placed side by side.

There they left Mary,

To weep among the dead.

Then two angels appeared,

Sitting at the feet and at the head.

“Woman, why are your weeping?”

One asked with a smile on his face.

“They have taken away my Lord,

And I don’t know His resting place.”

Sobbing, she nearly ran into the Gardener,

Who was Jesus in Disguise.

“Woman, why are you weeping?” He asked,

“Here, dry your eyes.”

“Whom are you seeking,

Who do you want to find?”

His voice was gentle,

His eyes were kind.

““Sir, if you have carried him away, 

Tell me where you have laid him, 

And I will take Him back,

To stay.”

He smiled and wiped away her tears,

He took her hand to lift her up.

She saw His bruised, scarred hands,

That had taken His Father’s cup.

“Mary,” He said, 

Looking into her heart,

In that moment, she was undone.

She though she’d fall apart.

There was only one,

Who had ever said her name

With such love and grace,

She looked up,

She knew THAT face.

And with that one word,

It said it all.

It said: I know you, My Child,

I’m the one who picks you up when you fall.

“Rabbi!” She cried with joy,

As she looked at the One who came to save,

The Light of Life standing there,

Among the dead and His grave.

 

It is only Jesus,

Who calls by our name,

And comforts us, and holds us,

In our grief and pain.

He is looking into your eyes,

And whispering your name,

“Come and follow me,

Who took your sin and shame.”

Won’t you take His hand,

Oh sinner, no longer tarry, 

He’s whispering His love to you,

He’s calling to you: “Mary.”

By Mary Cernyar, age 14

1/8/2019

Story taken from, Luke 7 and John 20:1-18

(Note to the Reader: This story is of two Different Marys. The woman who anointed Jesus’s feet was Mary of Bethany, and Mary Magdalene was the One who wept in the Garden when Jesus appeared to her. I put both of these Mary’s to make one Mary, because I think it fits both of their characters. I hope you enjoyed it.)