THE ROAD

[Hurried account of a short life]

Born in Bethlehem, bundled off to Egypt,
Rough and ready journey for a new baby boy.
Tumbling up in Nazareth, learning at the synagogue,
Mary’s precious darling and Joseph’s cherished joy.
Growing up to twelve years, the road now to Jerusalem,
Sat among the doctors to debate their lore,
Then home and grown to manhood, and to the Jordan river,
Baptised by Cousin John at the stony shore.

Gathered his companions, set off through the countryside,
Journeyed, teaching, preaching, walking far and wide,
Spread the word through Cana, Emaus, Nazareth,
All across to Galilee, the great lakeside.
Back again to Bethany, the homely homestead,
Calling back to life the friend the world thought dead.
The road went always onward, the great crowds ever grew
With comfort and with healing, making all things new.

Now into to Jerusalem, the joyous, shouting entry:
”Halleluia!” crying as the palm fronds wave,
Healing for the blind man, the road goes on its wending,
As foretold in prophesy, his life is near its ending.
Supper for the twelve, his friends, ready in the upper room:
A happy evening gathering, yet shadowed now with coming doom.
Capture in the garden, the road‘s end swiftly nearing,
Company of soldiers, sneering, mocking, jeering.
Locked up without trial in a sightless cell,
Nightlong lonely agony, glimpse of hell.

Dragged out in the morning, stripped for the bloody scourge,
Around him: “Off to Calvary!” the wild mob yelling urge.
Dying on the cross as the world falls silent,
Not the end, but the beginning of his mighty load,
For this he was born, for this he has come, and for this
He travels yet with us along the endless road.
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