Foretold in Isaiah 53 (Photo credit: Gregory Heath)

This poem was percolating in my mind for over a week, but the parts about the song in my youth just didn’t translate well in 2013. There was a lively song in my 1970s that bugged me even then, and I abhor it now.  I had to cut most of that out; it just hurt.

Free Me From Shame

Can it be that there is no glory without the cross
and no growth without suffering?
Shall we conform to the image of the suffering servant?
How can we bear the image of his glory
after first bearing the image of our own shame?
Not the image of the suffering servant,
we do bear the image and memory of evil.
Today my memory drifts back to a song of my youth,
recalling words about Jesus and Joseph,
not a praise song, not a hymn,
but blasphemy of my prideful youth.
Today I seek to share his suffering, to
learn from the master,
to attain resurrection from the dead.
How did I get here,
I, a sinner so sad?
I remember pride and remarks, and cool,
and the shame engulfs me now.
Let me now be a disciple of the master,
learning now as a servant.
I seek now next things.
Draw me from my own selfishness.
Draw me to a holy enclave where I may
be free with boldness in faith.
Let me enter the garden to be close by my
Savior.

(c) Tom Bolton, 19 February 2013, Milwaukee

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