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March 2004 Vol. 6 No. 3 | Submit stories, articles, letters, essays, poetry here! |
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March 19, 2004 With Easter fast approaching I wanted to find a way to celebrate the resurrection of the son of God more intimately than before. I picked up my Bible and began pouring through the New Testament scriptures about the life, death and resurrection of my Savior. Unexpectedly the person that leap out at me in the passages was Mary. How did Mary feel about the baby named Jesus who had been prophesied to save the world, I thought. Black Shakespeare on the Beauty of the GhettoOh tattered torn and tortured soul what peak a mist your soul unknown the misery of ghetto streets the eyes of veiled dark pain you meet and yet unknown they wear the mask till at night the pictures cast poverty and desperate need upon the urban culture feed yet from her breast creativity streams like reams of hope or stars that gleam
By Bridgett Nesbit copyright 2004 He CameHe came that we might know of his story He died that we might know of faith He rose that we might know of glory He lives that we might know of grace By Bridgett Nesbit, copyright 2001 |
With Easter fast approaching I wanted to find a way to celebrate the resurrection of the son of God more intimately than before.
I picked up my Bible and began pouring through the New Testament scriptures about the life, death and resurrection of my Savior.
Unexpectedly the person that leap out at me in the passages was Mary.
How did Mary feel about the baby named Jesus who had been prophesied to save the world, I thought.
It isn’t far fetched to be intrigued by her when trying to understand and appreciate Jesus intimately.
Mary’s miraculously conceived son was born amid the stench of urine, in the audience of animals and some fortunate shepherds.
He was born to bewildered parents, both she and Joseph witnessed divinity emerging from a teenage womb.
And as Mary stood at the cross of her dying son she must have remembered what the prophet Simeon{confirmed} told her when the couple took him as a baby to the temple.
"A sword shall surely pierce through your soul also that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed." Luke 34:35
This child that must have had a favorite bed time story, toy and play mates though others had not noticed was the growing image of the invisible God to Mary.
She’d wiped his runny nose, kissed his scrapped knee and probably even removed splinters from the fingers of the budding carpenter knowing all the time that he was assigned to be the bishop of many souls.
Jesus even performed his first miracle for Mary when he turned water into wine. His mother must of heard about him also giving sight to the blind, feeding multitudes and raising Larzus from the dead.
I believe a strange mixture of grief and joy flooded Mary’s heart as Jesus spoke to her and the disciple from the cross.
To Mary, "Woman behold thy son." To the disciple (Bible doesn’t name the disciple) "Behold your mother."
Then Mary was lead away.
It would not be too much longer before the Messiah also known as the living water would profess that he was thirsty.
I can certainly identify with Mary, watching the carpenter who had put away his hammer and nails to be nailed to the cross of the world’s convictions.
Mary knew as a child that Jesus would be a great man but no one speaks about her watching 33 year old faith stretched out upon a cross.
After that fulfillment of the prophecy there is no scriptural reference of Mary’s joy when Jesus rose.
The is also no noted conversation of mother and son but there is an implied message that his Mary must have held till the third day and we should hold on to... he rose again.
It is a theme that should be etched into the hearts of all believers because it is the biggest detail of God’s divine rescue mission.
He rose again, from that point on no one could say that God did not understand and love his creations.
He rose again, after that God stepped from behind the veil and introduced himself more intimately than before.
We were given a front row seat to salvation and learned what Mary knew from the beginning.
The nails did not hold Jesus on the cross, love did.
He did not die and raise again for the world’s glory, he was and still is the world’s glory.
He rose again because he wanted us to know that through him nothing is impossible for them that believe.
Bridgett Nesbit can be reached at bynesbit@charlotteobserver.com
Like
hope encrusted in stars
You were my vision
my destiny...
and unsought like diamond in the sea
I found my path
behind the veil of your soul
but we were young and I had time
So I released my grib upon your heart
only to find
some one else discovered
my missing piece, my closest friend
my mid night lover
and I had not time at all
By Bridgett Nesbit
copyright 2004
Shook is the trees and the memories I have of you
Like the wind
Shook is thoughts that will not fade
This slow and simple soft parade of thoughts
Shook is the soil beneath your feet
When it’s fading fast like thoughts of us on cold nights
with only our bodies to keep us warm
Shook is the rain that drowns
that tells no tails but comes in calm and lengthy spell
Like you did when we were in love
Shook is the idea of us in the snow with the sun and the temperature rising
As our tempers do
Not enough time to enjoy the splendor
Shook is the things that wait for me in concrete dreams and fantasy
Of what we used to be
Shook is the silver lining of expectations that I had of you
Or us but the weight of you was just too much for me
To believe in alone
Shook is the way my stomach turns when you look at me
And say the words that
God forbid you to say
“I love you”
Shook is when words become letters that stand for things
And the race we run has no means
Of sanity
You shouldn’t be able to love me like you meant it and not be there
Then walk away
Or say you care
Shook is you leaving when I need you here
Or turning in a simple jeer
to start an argument so you could go
Shook is
Me saying no but meaning yea
Wanting our heaven and telling you to go to hell
It’s the nights I can’t sleep and you slumber so well
It’s waiting to feel you
Still feeling the pain
Shook is me
Constantly hearing your name
Shook is
Like a bubbling brook that rolls and begs to meet it’s end
Knowing I could never call you friend
Shook is me sitting here
While my heart is forced to take the stage
And give us meaning in just a page
Wondering why I can’t take the pain
Shook is the storm and not seeing the rain
Not getting wet
The storm doesn’t belong to me
because all I want is to become free
It’s you being you and not seeing wrong until your lips part
Shook is me thinking you have a heart
The times that we laughed but the splendor was gone
Or hearing the gossip when you’re not at home
It’s knowing real love can’t be taken
And watching you take the better part of me
Shook is to move or to be shaken
To alter or to break
But shook can’t be moved when your moving on
Hearing the words of my girls to just stay strong
And shook is you when
You realize I can no longer be shaken
Freedom’s song
Abashing peace by painted night
Avenging hope with stars
she sang against the barren plain
her voice sprang through the bars
She refused to be quieted by time or revelation
She defied stereotype with in her degradation
She sang as if the thing she sung were hers
though knew not the span of carelessness
the freedom of the birds
Her tribe’s men shunned her open heart
Why sing while bound in chains
I sing of this because I know
that I’ll be free again
By Bridgett Nesbit
Copyright 2001
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