Barabbas

Son of man
Son of the Father--
who can
tell one from the other?
Son of man
must taste of death.
Father's son
I would rather
be the one
to return
to Father's side
than to remain
to mourn
man's son's pain.
So he died
while my breath
burned in the rain.

Son of man
dead for me,
crucified,
to set me free.
Son of the Father,
I must be
because my brother
toppled death
upon a tree.

The cross's death
becomes life's door.
Son of man
offers more
abundant life
than those whose scorn
had thought to kill
the coming morn.

Son of man
my life will turn
as to our Father
I return.

(Note: "Barabbas" literally means "son of the father" in Hebrew.)

--Madeleine L'Engle (1918-2007), American novelist and poet, from A Cry Like a Bell

Scripture reference: Matthew 27:15-26 (Liturgy of the Word, Palm Sunday A)

David

Your altar smelled of the slaughterhouse.
The innocent eyes of tender beasts
lost in confusion of laws and vows
were the high price paid to you for feasts.
They had to be men of iron, your priests.

And so did I, born but to sing,
to attend the lambs and not to kill.
Why, my Lord, did you have to bring
me down from the safety of my hill
into the danger of your will?

I learned to fight, I learned to sin,
I battled heathen, fought with lust;
when you were on my side I'd win.
My appetite I could not trust.
I only knew your wrath was just.

What I desired I went and stole.
I had to fight against my son.
You bound my wounds and made me whole
despite the wrong that I had done.
I turned from you and tried to run.

You took me, also, by the hair
and brought me back before your altar.
You terrified me with your care.
Against your rage I could but falter.
You changed me, but refused to alter.

So I grew old, but there remained
within me still the singing boy.
I stripped and sang. My wife complained. 
Yet all my ill did I destroy
dancing before you in our joy.

My God, my God, is it not meet
that I should sing and shout and roar,
leap to your ark with loving feet?
I praise thee, hallow, and adore,
and play before thee evermore.

-- Madeleine L'Engle (1918-2007), Episcopal laywoman, author, and poet, from A Cry Like a Bell

Relevant scripture: 1 Samuel 16: 1-13

At Communion

Whether I kneel or stand or sit in prayer
I am not caught in time nor held in space,
But, thrust beyond this posture, I am where
Time and eternity are face to face;
Infinity and space meet in this place
Where crossbar and upright hold the One
In agony and in all Love's embrace.
The power in helplessness which was begun
When all the brilliance of the flaming sun
Contained itself in the small confines of a child
Now comes to me in this strange action done
In mystery. Break time, break space, O wild
and lovely power. Break me: thus I am dead
And resurrected now in wine and bread.

-- Madeleine L'Engle (1918-2007), American novelist, poet, and Episcopalian, meditation for April 6 in Glimpses of Grace: Daily Thoughts and Reflections

The altar at Camp Phoenix, set for the Camp Eucharist service

For Lent, 1966

It is my Lent to break my Lent,
     To eat when I would fast,
To know when slender strength is spent
     Take shelter from the blast
When I would run with wind and rain,
     To sleep when I would watch.
It is my Lent to smile at pain
     But not ignore its touch.

It is my Lent to listen well
     When I would be alone,
To talk when I would rather dwell
     In silence, turn from none
Who call on me, to try to see
     That what is truly meant
Is not my choice. If Christ's I'd be
     It's thus I'll keep my Lent.

--Madeleine L'Engle (1918-2007)