Haiku of the Passion (Mark)

 

Haiku of the Passion (Mark)

They plotted his death

Wait ‘til the festival’s passed,

avoid a riot.

Bethany’s perfume

poured out over Jesus’ head.

Anticipation.

Why was it not sold

for the poor? She has done this

ahead of my death.

The passover meal.

This is my body, broken;

my blood spilt for you.

Even must I die

I will not desert you, Lord.

Is that so, Peter?

In Gethsemane,

three disciples, asked to watch.

Weariness prevails.

Can’t you stay awake?

Your spirits may be willing,

but your flesh is weak.

He is arrested,

and led away to be tried.

They all run from him.

The verdict: guilty

of blasphemy. The sentence:

inevitable.

His fate is confirmed

by Pilate, he is beaten,

mocked, led out to die.

Lifted on a cross.

The mob mentality rules;

the mocking persists.

The sign above reads,

This is the king of the Jews.

He cries out, and dies.

© Ken Rookes 2024

The finish

Haiku of the passion

An unnamed person

gives them a room to gather

for the special meal.

Sitting with his friends.

I shall not eat in this way

until the kingdom.

Take and share this cup;

I shall drink from it no more

‘til the kingdom comes.

Giving thanks, he broke

the bread, gave it to his friends:

This is my body.

They were arguing;

Who is the greatest? He spoke:

The greatest must serve.

The garden, praying.

Father, if it be your will,

take this cup from me.

They arrested him.

In the dark courtyard, Peter

denies his master.

You are a prophet!

Guards mock the blindfolded man:

Tell us who struck you!

The leaders ask him;

Are you the Christ? My answer

won’t matter; why ask?

Herod returns him

in a purple robe. Justice

is not his concern.

Pilate must decide.

For expedience, the man

receives his sentence.

Barabbas walks free.

He has drawn the lucky card.

Jesus stands condemned.

There, beyond the walls

he is crucified. Thieves form

a cruel symmetry.

Words of mockery

are met with words of welcome

and grace. The man dies.

© Ken Rookes 2022

The end

 

Haiku of the passion.

Can’t risk a riot;

wait till the festival’s past.

Then we can kill him.

Nothing much has changed,

the dirty work still happens

when no one’s watching.

They set up Judas

to betray him. Paid him well,

presumably.

Sharing sacred meal

he spoke of being betrayed..

Surely not I, Lord?

They shared bread and wine.

My body, my blood, for you;

find me deep within.

You will all leave me

when the testing time is here;

even you, Peter.

Sit here while I pray,

he told his friends. But they slept;

the flesh being weak.

Betrayed and taken,

put on trial; the outcome

predetermined.

Taken to Pilate.

Are you the King of the Jews?

Have you no answer?

Let me release him;

he does not deserve death. No!

Give us Barabbas!

Much mocking, spitting,

purple cloak with crown of thorns.

Lead him out to die.

They crucified him,

with two bandits, one each side.

There was much mocking.

At noon the darkness.

At three, abandonment’s cry,

and then the last breath.

With linen grave-cloth

he is entombed. A stone rolled

to seal the entrance.

 

© Ken Rookes 2021

 

Silence

Haiku for washing one’s hands

He gave no answer

when the governor asked him

about the charges.

They called for his death;

Pilate knew his innocence.

Let’s not make trouble.

The sorrow, the pain,

the cruelty; sacrificed

for expedience.

We still silence them;

prophets with their awkward words.

They keep coming back.

Who do we call for;

taking man or giving man?

Choose between the two.

Are you still there God?

Why have you abandoned me?

Nothing but silence.

Will Elijah come?

Will anyone rescue him?

But nobody comes.

His voice cries again.

Anguished and forsaken

the king breathes his last.

© Ken Rookes 2020

Into Paradise

Haiku for dying

It was called The Skull

this place where death is dispensed

with lumber and nails.

Jesus, Son of Man,

has his own appointment there

his arms stretched out wide.

To his right and left

two criminals share with him

his sentence and pain.

The leaders mock him,

along with the killing squad:

Save yourself, O King!

One felon joins in,

deriding him with mocking:

Save yourself, and us!

He has done no wrong;

leave him! Our condemnation

is just; his is not.

Jesus, think on me,

the second spoke, when you come

into your kingdom.

We die together.

This day you’ll journey with me

into Paradise.

© Ken Rookes 2019

Into your hands

Haiku of the end.

They arrest Jesus

decide upon the verdict,

begin the trial.

Taken to Pilate,

He is accused of treason;

by his own people.

A Galilean,

you say! He’s not my problem;

take him to Herod!

Jesus the healer!

says Herod, all excited.

Show for me a sign!

He keeps them guessing,

refusing to play their game,

keeping his mouth shut.

Pilate resists them,

He has done no wrong. Flog him,

then we’ll let him go.

The crowd shout him down.

Pilate, lacking conviction,

lets Barabbas go.

Beaten and broken

Jesus staggers ‘neath his cross.

The Cyrene bears it.

The inscription reads

This is the king of the Jews.

A king for us all.

They are mocking him:

If you are king, save yourself!

The soldiers join in.

Two others also,

criminals, guilty as charged,

are hanged there with him.

The one also mocks.

The other entreats: Jesus,

do not forget me.

At three he cries out,

Father. I am in your hands!

and draws his last breath.

The crowd return home,

beating their breasts, questioning,

What is it we’ve done?

© Ken Rookes 2019

The last day

Haiku of the passion

Lord, we are your friends;

You’re everything to us:

we’d never betray.

You’ll all desert me,

but don’t dwell on these failures.

There is always hope.

Even you, Peter,

so stop your protestations;

you will deny me.

Take my body-bread,

this wine, red like my bleeding;

my life, shared for you.

Facing his fears

while his weary friends sleep on;

praying all alone.

Jesus is betrayed,

arrested and put on trial.

There is one outcome.

Who are you, Jesus?

Are you the king that some claim,

the promised from God?

It has been settled.

He walks to the killing place

where his cross awaits.

They laugh and they mock,

they taunt him as he hangs there,

silent, accepting.

His work is complete.

He takes his final breath, sighs,

and lets it all go.

© Ken Rookes 2018

Haiku of the end.

Should we pity him,

Judas, called Iscariot?

He made his choices.

Eat my body-bread

and drink of my red wine-blood;

remember my life.

Even you, Peter,

you will also run away;

three times denying.

In garden prayers

he asks to be delivered.

His companions sleep.

They come with clubs, swords

and a resolve to end it.

He is arrested.

Tried by Caiaphas,

convicted of blasphemy.

Never any doubt.

Taken to Pilate

to receive his death sentence;

this King of the Jews.

Silence, his answer,

he calmly accepts his fate;

trusts himself to God.

The crowd finds its voice.

Convicted and condemned,

he is led away.

The cross is shouldered,

and taken beyond the gates,

to the killing place.

There is no mercy.

The man is fixed to his cross

and lifted up high.

The skies are darkened.

A cry of dereliction

signifies the end.

They mounted a guard

at the entrance to the tomb:

what did they expect?

© Ken Rookes 2017

The place called the skull

haiku for those who scoff.

It is called The Skull,

this place where problems are fixed

in time-honoured ways.

Bodies are broken

and causes brought to an end,

Hopes meet their nadir.

People standing by

join their leaders' scoffing cries.

Soldiers also mock.

The man saved others;

if he is God's chosen one,

let him save himself!

Not much sympathy

from one who also hangs there;

he joins the mockers

Are you not the Christ?

Save yourself! While you're at it

spare a thought for us.

The third man protests:

He's not deserving of this!

Asks: Remember me.

Not permitting pain

to determine love's limits,

Jesus answers: Yes.

© Ken Rookes 2016

Remembrance day

Crucifixion Haiku

Watching from afar

as our friend is put to death;

please don't condemn us.

© Ken Rookes 2016

The agony of Good Friday

Rev Dr Wes Campbell has done a new Easter journey triptych and has given me permission to post his paintings and share on our site. 
This is the central panel portraying the agony of the cross. 
Please feel free to use with acknowledgement.

It is finished

A stone to seal an entrance,

asserting the boundary between the living

and the dead.

Linen cloths to bind a corpse,

cold lips hidden within coarse fabric;

no longer can they speak their words of love.

A hundred pounds of myrrh and aloes

to weigh a body down,

to keep it from floating off

into mythical certitude;

or uncertainty, if you prefer.

On Friday, with the setting of the sun,

light is overcome by the darkness

as a man is laid in his tomb.

Death's accoutrements

determinedly underline the tears,

the despair,

and the apparent finality:

it is finished.

© Ken Rookes. 2015

Crucifixion: Marc Chagall

And a Good Friday was had by all

And a Good Friday Was Had By All

 You men there, keep those women back and God 

Almighty he laid down on the crossed timber 

and old Silenus my offsider look at me as if to say nice work for soldiers, 

your mind's not your own once you sign that dotted line 

Ave Caesar and all that malarkey Imperator Rex

well this Nazarene didn't make it any easier really‑

not like the ones who kick up a fuss 

so you can do your block and take it out on them

Silenus held the spikes steady and I let fly with the sledge‑hammer, 

not looking on the downswing

 trying hard not to hear over the women's wailing

 the bones give way the iron shocking the dumb wood.

Orders is orders, I said after it was over nothing personal you understand‑

we had a drill‑sergeant once thought he was God 

but he wasn't a patch on you

then we hauled on the ropes and he rose in the hot air

 like a diver just leaving the springboard,

 arms spread so it seemed over the whole damned creation 

over the big men who must have had it in for him and the curious ones 

who'll watch anything if it's free with only the usual women caring anywhere 

and a blind man in tears.

‑ BRUCE DAWE

Painting by Rev Wes Campbell (used with permission)

In Paradise

In Paradise

I could never get much excited
by the notion of Paradise / heaven / the hereafter.
It sometimes seems to be a construct of the church,
attached to the teachings of Jesus
and distracting us from his command
to get on with the work of love.
At best, it is a bit-player,
thrust on to the centre-stage, to claim the spotlight.
There it assumes the role
of an all-controlling Master of Ceremonies
through whom ecclesiastical authorities,
popes, priests and everybody in-between,
direct the thinking and the behaviour of the masses.
If you want to get there, as opposed to the other place,
remember; we hold the keys!
It suited, too, the civil authorities
with its message of divinely ordered patience.
No need for revolution,
in Paradise you will receive your reward / recompense
for all the indignities, pains and brutalities
suffered during your earthly sojourn!
In Luke’s story of the passion
the word is placed upon the lips of the cross-suspended Jesus,
as he responds to the justice and compassion of a fellow criminal.
Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.
To die with Jesus;
perhaps this is the proper meaning of Paradise.

© Ken Rookes.

In paradise

I could never get much excited by the notion
of Paradise / heaven / the hereafter.
It sometimes seems to be a construct of the church,
attached to the teachings of Jesus
and distracting us from his command
to get on with the work of love.
At best, it is a bit-player, thrust
on to the centre-stage, to claim the spotlight.
There it assumes the role
of an all-controlling Master of Ceremonies
through whom ecclesiastical authorities,
popes, priests and everybody in-between,
direct the thinking and the behaviour
of the masses. If you want to get there,
as opposed to the other place,
remember; we hold the keys!
It suited, too the civil authorities
with its message of divinely ordered patience.
No need for revolution, in Paradise
you will receive your reward / recompense
for all the indignities, pains and brutalities
suffered during your earthly sojourn!
In Luke’s story of the passion
the word is placed upon the lips
of the cross-suspended Jesus,
as he responds to the justice and compassion
of a fellow criminal. Truly I tell you,
today you will be with me in Paradise.
To die with Jesus; perhaps this
is the proper meaning of Paradise.

C Ken Rookes.

The crucifixion is not everybody's cup of tea

“The crucifixion is not everybody’s cup of tea, in the current market.” (comment from a the antiques expert while valuing an antique mechanical crucifix on the antiques roadshow)

- I Passed by a church the other day that had a sign out front that proclaimed, "Come and claim your heavenly reward!

Ever seen a church with a sign out front that read, "Come! Be Crucified!  We've Got a Cross that Fits Your Back Too!"

Fake blood Jesus

Jesus died a cruel and brutal death.

We all know that. Crucifixion,

as a means of execution,

was not chosen for its humane qualities

but for its effectiveness. An innocent man

dies a painful death. He was not alone.

Like people in many countries today,

no less innocent of the crimes

of which they have been accused;

arbitrary victims of policies of oppression,

or simply to increase the reign of fear

among the populace.

In processions and shopping centres,

at this time of the year we see them;

fake red blood dripping abundantly

from earnest male bodies.

Surrounded by like-minded supporters,

they plod towards their imagined Calvary,

or excitedly ascend their particular version

of a wooden cross.

Exploiting their captive audience,

they issue their “Easter” invitation to choose

between heaven and hell.

Is this what Easter is all about?

I would abandon my faith in an instant

if I thought it were so.

If Easter means anything, it surely

declares that those who have been touched

by resurrection’s power will not rest

until the brutal causes of Jesus death;

injustice, cruelty, fear, and wilful ignorance,

have been eliminated by love.

Let resurrection’s generosity, grace and self-giving

reign, and let questions of heaven and hell

be consigned to the same heap of irrelevance

as all the fake blood.

© Ken Rookes 2010
I posted this poem last year, bur feel that is remains relevant after viewing, (and taking part in) the Bendigo Easter Festival Procession this morning