Monthly Prayer

‘Follow me,’ you said,

Sounded simple enough –

Until you walked the path

to the place of the skull.

Carrying your cross.

‘Drink this cup,’ you said,

Sounded fine –

Until you spoke of blood

poured out, and a cup

full of sorrow.

‘I will be lifted up,’ you said,

Speaking not of honour,

but a criminal’s death;

Your body broken and beaten,

stripped and nailed to wood.

Yours is a strange kind of glory, Lord,

To follow is a frightening prospect,

When pain and trouble arrive,

we would sooner run away and hide

as your first disciples did.

Give us the courage to go with you;

Remembering that our lives belong to you already,

Trusting that in losing we will find,

Discovering that from death,

new life emerges.