A Mother’s View of Easter

I stood at the foot of the cross on Friday,

The cross where they crucified my son.

I was close enough to see his tears

I wept as I saw his blood.

There was nothing I could do to stop them.

My cries were drowned by the crowd.

He told me this day would come,

But I didn’t know they’d be so loud.

My miracle child

Born in a stable bare

No room at the inn, the keeper had said

No room for this child so rare.

How did we get from there to here?

From shepherds and miracle birth

To this darkest of days as they take his life

The end of his work here on earth.

The sky is turning darker now

Taking on a green-black hue.

He cries out, “Father, forgive them

For they know not what they do.”

The world goes black

As my sweet boy dies

I fall to my knees in anguish now

As he finally closes his eyes.

“It is finished,” he said

As he slipped from his broken frame

The crowd thinned out, they no longer cared,

Though they were the ones to blame.

I wept as they lowered his body

My arms reached to hold my son

I held him close as I did long ago

My miracle child, my special one.

They took him from my arms too soon

They had to place him in the tomb.

We had no time for proper service

The Sabbath eve had fallen on us.

I spent the Sabbath morning mourning

Crying for the man he could have been.

I wept for words not said and deeds not done

I begged forgiveness for my sins.

For I felt anger at that crowd

And at my government.

I felt anger toward those who loved him

Whose voices had been silent.

The Sabbath day passed slowly by

For time it marches on

The early hours of the morning dawned

There was work still to be done.

Sweet Mary of Magdalene

And the other Mary, too,

Said they would tend to his body

So they left me with nothing to do.

Nothing to do but weep for my child

My son who was no longer here.

My son who they’d killed and taken from me.

A man who to many had been dear.

Through the sound of my cries I heard a shout

And I ran to the door to see

The Marys were running back from the garden

What I heard just could not be!

“He is not there,” they shouted loud

“The stone is moved and his body gone!”

Did someone take him? How could this be?

But the Marys continued on…

“An angel was there and made it known

That we were not to be afraid.

What he said to us then we could hardly believe.

Jesus has risen from the grave!”

“Risen?” I asked. “What do you mean by this?

He was nailed to a cross and I watched as he bled!

What you are saying just makes no sense.

I saw with my own eyes, my Jesus is dead.”

“He appeared to us! He truly did!

We saw with our eyes, too!

He is no longer dead, He has conquered the grave

Just like he said he would do!”

I didn’t know what to make of this news

But I tried to understand

My Jesus lives! He is not dead!

He was raised by God’s own hand!

This was more than any mother could hope

More than I had dared ever dream.

I looked up at the sky just then

And was amazed by the golden gleam.

Yes, a new day had dawned and from this day on

Things would never be the same.

We laughed and cried and hugged each other

As on and on we exclaimed,

“The Son of God is no longer dead!

He died but has risen like it was decreed!

Christ the Lord is risen today!

My Jesus is risen indeed!”