[To The Reverend Ron Davis,
and to Sister Amy,
both of whom have helped me with the content of this poem]
Four decades since I bore that Roman cross
out of the city, on to Calvary.
Belief came afterward; and all the years
have been good. But, an old man now, my breath
comes short, and I am told I draw near death.
But I am troubled by the shadowed fears
that flit like vultures from a darkened sky.
I weep that I do not know how to die,
how to release my life courageously.
The tempter whispers that my faith is weak;
not just weak, but a wreck, a total loss.
But then I hear my Savior, Jesus, speak:
"Be not afraid, and put that beam on me;
"then, burdenless, enter eternity."
Starward
[jlc]
Author's Notes/Comments:
This poem is the result of my experience of having open heart surgery for a dissected aorta; the chance of survival from which is, ultimately, 3 in 20. In the last few hours before the surgery began, I felt that my faith had faltered. I did not lose faith that Christ existed, or that He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life; my faith gave way to the feeling of utter unworthiness to receive, or even ask, His help during this difficulty, or to meet Him should it be His will that my life on earth be closed. But, in His great mercy, He allowed me to survive, and to recover both physically and spiritually. And, He has shown me---through discussions with the friends mentioned above---that my faith faltered because I looked inward not outward. In John's Gospel, Jesus says that believing means we have eternal life . . . believing, plus nothing else. John's Gospel says I am to believe on Jesus, with no reference to myself. And this is where my faith failed. But, although my faith faltered, Christ's promise did not. He was there for me, and restored me to my Beloved and to my family and friends.
Furthermore, I believe that He has shown me another truth. Just as Simon of Cyrene bore His cross after He fell beneath it several times, so Jesus spiritually returns the favor to the individual believer if that person falls beneath a cross of fear or trouble in a time of crisis. I fell, that day of the surgery, beneath a cross made up of fear and of hysteria caused by a bad reaction to the anesthetic. I fell, but Christ stood, and He shouldered my cross for me, and carried it, and me, through the surgery. I cannot help weeping as I write this because I know, as surely as I know anything at all, that He carried my cross for me that day, and I can only praise Him, and thank Him, and testify for Him accordingly.
This is beautiful and on a personal not i am glad you have figured it all out. RAe