In the Upper Room

I haven’t posted any of my own poetry here since November. I thought today might be a good time to give you a glimpse into what I’ve been writing.

I’ll be honest: I haven’t been writing as much poetry as I used to. I’m preparing to enter college, racing to finish multiple major writing projects before August, and pressing through my to be read list. As much as I love writing poetry, it simply hasn’t been happening as much.

However, starting early in the year and going on through Lent, I wrote several sonnets set in the upper room where Jesus feasted with His disciples before His crucifixion. These are some of my favorite poems that I’ve ever written—and definitely my favorite of my sonnets.

As Eastertide comes to a close, I invite you to step back into the upper room with me and remember why and Whom we celebrate.

[Jesus] got up from supper, and laid aside His garments; and taking a towel, He girded Himself. –John 13:4

A sacred chatter wraps the upper room,

Soft broken by the Master’s rising.

Before Him leers the cross, the stony tomb,

Each terror welcomed, none surprising.

But now His cloak is gentleness, bound

About Him as He lays aside His clothes

And then a lowly towel wraps around.

Now shifting to adopt the humblest pose,

He kneels, the King of kings, to wash the feet

That will be spared when His are pierced through.

Not His to take the soft or easy seat;

He came to serve, to die for them. He knew

Full well the feet He washed with tender care

Deserved the wounds that He Himself would bear.

He became troubled in spirit, and testified and said, "Truly, truly, I say to you, that one of you will betray Me." –John 13:21

Among you there is one who loves You not,

He eats the broken bread and tastes Your blood,

But sees the meal as bread with silver bought,

He thinks the water is to rid him of the mud

Brought on by walking through the dust

Of Judah’s roads. What of the dust of life?

What of his pride and greed and lust?

What of the endless bickering and strife?

The glint of silver spins, evoking lies

(How beautiful; no price too great for it)

And so, betrayed, the Son of Heaven dies,

The cost to save all sinners from their sin.

There is no price so great I will not pay –

So spake both betrayer and betrayed.

Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me. –John 14:1

The tenderness in Your discourse I hear,

Though centuries ago Your words did fade

Into the air thick-laden with the fear

That heralded the pall of cross and grave.

Yet deep the hearts of those who heard were stirred,

The words imprinted on their soul and mind,

Remembered—although comprehension blurred—

And kept, a truth for all to seek and find.

In me You dwell, and I in Your embrace;

The promised peace enfolds my wearied soul,

Beatitude of grace on grace on grace,

A draught poured out from never-empty bowl.

So through the ages still Your words resound

Echoing the love that laid aside its crown.

(Photo credit to Jametlene Reskp on Unplash)