Saturday, April 4, 2020

Remembering Good Friday's

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit:

When I was a young girl, back in the ’50s
my grandmother said
there should be no talking on Good Friday
between the hours of one and three

no running around, no radio and no TV
all out of respect for our Savior
Who suffered and died
upon the Cross at Calvary

so try though I did to be silent and still
I was as fidgety, squirmy and irksome
as any healthy active kid would be
who had not yet grasped
the profound depth of what happened
that terrible good day when Jesus died

and in the 70’s when my own children
were young and restless
I would bring them to church
during the very same hours Grandma decreed
to venerate the Holy Cross
We’d approach the altar
where the Crucifix was displayed
kneel down and kiss the nail-pierced feet of Jesus
or solemnly watch a reenactment of the Passion
by the youth group

Now, so many years later
now that I am a grandmother myself
I sit without fidgeting and fumbling
willingly turn off the radio and the TV
and carve out meaningful time to meditate
upon all my precious Lord endured
to save me from my sins

Sometimes I sing
“Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?”
Sometimes I weep
and sometimes, like today, I write a poem

Always, Jesus’ great sacrifice breaks my heart
and always, looking back
at that astonishing empty tomb
I’m reminded of the Hallelujah Hope
I have in Him—which is eternal

Grandma would be so pleased

Maude Carolan Pych

Note: The above poem appears in my new book, "Behold the Lamb...poetically!" Elm Hill Press. It is available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. For information, go to

Friday, April 3, 2020

The Passover Lamb

Until Resurrection Day

Passover is just a few days away...

By Angel Ciesniarska


Abba went into the sheepfold to choose a spotless lamb,
as Moses gave instructions that he got from the I Am.

Our lamb, indeed, was spotless, so I named him Wooly Bright;
we brought him inside to live with us, morning, noon and night.

I ran my fingers through his coat and fed him from my hand,
I put fresh water in his trough; he’s the best lamb in the land!

Today he’ll be our sacrifice. Moses said this must be done.
He must die that I may live, for I’m a firstborn son.

We’ve been oppressed by slavery; Pharaoh will not let us go,
but God’s mighty arm will save us. We’ll watch His power flow.

Moses told us, take lamb’s blood, and brush it on the lintel
then we will be protected; it almost sounds too simple.

Tonight we will leave Egypt and journey far from home,
but I’ll remember Wooly Bright wherever I may roam.

Someday the world will see in this, God’s salvation plan;
God’s Son will be the sacrifice, the great Passover Lamb!

For as God will use blood of lambs to set His people free,
the precious Blood of Jesus will save sinners…you and me.

Maude Carolan Pych

Note: The above poem appears in my new book, "Behold the Lamb...poetically!" Elm Hill Press. It is depicted below and is available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. For information, go to

A meaningful Easter Gift Suggestion...
98 poems about the Birth, Death & Resurrection
of Jesus...the Lamb of God.

Behold the Lamb...poetically!
By Maude Carolan Pych

Thursday, April 2, 2020

"I'm Not Jewish, but..."

Until Resurrection Day


except that the sap
which rises
from sturdy old olive roots
flows through the veins
of this grafted branch

I’m not Jewish
except for my flesh
which still shudders
at the Shoah
 (of sisters and brothers
of the natural branch)
and the same root
and swears
I’d have done something...

I’m not Jewish
except for my feet
which have walked
the holy, well-worn pathways
in Eretz Yisrael

except for my fingertips
which pressed petitions
between stones
of the Western Wall

except for my ears
which perk to the cantor’s
chanting of the Shema
the Aaronic Benediction
the Kiddush
over bread and wine

except for my eyes
which look
upon the Lamb,
my Atonement

except for my lips
which chant
ancient baruchas
to HaShem

I’m not Jewish
except for my heart
which bears the cloven mark
of circumcision

and loves Yeshua,
the Jewish Messiah
Who was pierced
for my transgressions
Who shed
His precious Jewish Blood
for me

Maude Carolan

Note: The above poem appears in my new book, "Behold the Lamb...poetically!" Elm Hill Press. It's available online at Amazon & Barnes & Noble. For information, go to

Wednesday, April 1, 2020

"Behold, the Lamb"

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit:


In a grassy field in Bethlehem
a rugged old shepherd
tenderly smooths the wooly coat
of a pregnant ewe, as she bleats in labor
almost ready to deliver her offspring

He’s been through this many times—
Patiently, the shepherd remains with her
prepared to assist as she gives birth

Immediately following the delivery, he wisely wipes
the membrane away from the lamb’s face
so it can breathe, while the mother
instinctively licks it all over with her tongue
In a few minutes, it rises on wobbly legs
and manages a few shaky steps

Then the shepherd picks it up
and carefully examines
every limb and joint and crevice
Finding no blemish
he wraps strips of swaddling cloth
around its delicate little hooves
to protect them from splintering or cracking

He’ll raise this spotless little lamb
with utmost care—

and present it to the Levitical priests
designated for sacrifice
upon the altar at the Temple in Jerusalem

as an atonement for sin

The old shepherd
warms himself by the fire
with the younger men
when suddenly the sky is alight
with angels singing praises to God
and announcing with joy
the birth of Jesus, Savior of the World

Filled with great jubilation
the shepherds set off
with their flock, to honor Him
They don’t have far to travel

In a lowly stable outside an inn
they find the Babe
with His mother, Mary
and her husband, Joseph

Baby Jesus is without blemish
swaddled and sleeping, in a make-shift cradle
that is actually a feeding trough for animals

Years go by
and in the fullness of time
the Man, Jesus, presents Himself
to John, the Baptizer
on the shore of the Jordan River

As He approaches
John proclaims to all who will listen

Behold, the Lamb of God
who takes away the sin of the world![1]

A few years later
Jesus, Son of God, the spotless Lamb
does exactly that, once and for all—

at the Cross

Maude Carolan Pych

[1]John 1:29 NASB

Note: The above poem is included in my new book (pictured below), "Behold the Lamb...poetically!" It is available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. For information go to

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!"
By Maude Carolan Pych

Tuesday, March 31, 2020

"The Dungeon"

Until Resurrection Day

Israel Pilgrimage—2006

There is a pit
beneath the House of Caiaphas
a once dark, dismal, terrifying hole
into which prisoners
were lowered by ropes
under their armpits

Our Lord Jesus likely
was brought here directly
from the Garden of Gethsemane
on the night He was betrayed by Judas

The scene seems less horrific today
than when I was here in 1986
Then, it was easier to imagine
a terrifying incarceration
of a prisoner, especially
an innocent prisoner, alone
amid ominous dampness and vermin
in the very bowels of the earth

The pit is located beneath a church—
The Church of Saint Peter of Gallicantu
(of the cock’s crow)
named for where in the courtyard
Peter denied knowing Jesus three times

It’s been spiffed-up—
It’s brighter. The descent, easier
It’s not nearly as dismal

but, back in eighty-six
as Wayne Monbleau read Psalm 22
in that detestable dungeon

…they pierced
my hands and my feet.
I can count all my bones…[1]

I closed my eyes, and literally
imagining how terribly Jesus suffered
to wash my sins away

Maude Carolan Pych
3/24/12 Rev 4 3/25/18

[1] Psalm 22:17-18 NASB

Notes: Rev. Wayne Monbleau, mentioned in this poem, is the host of "Let's Talk About Jesus" call-in radio counseling program. He was the leader of my 1986 pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

The above poem, "The Dungeon" appears in my new book, "Behold the Lamb...poetically!" Elm Hill Press. It is available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. For information, go to

Monday, March 30, 2020

Wonders in the Sky...

Until Resurrection Day

Good Friday 2014, Packanack Lake, New Jersey
“I will display wonders in the sky and on the earth, blood, fire and columns of smoke. The sun will be turned into darkness and the moon into blood before the great and awesome day of the Lord comes.” Joel 2:30-31 NASB

The alarm went off at 3:00 a.m., Tuesday
We went outdoors to gaze at the sky
hoping to get a glimpse
of the first blood moon of the tetrad—
Passover, 2014

It was there, but we couldn’t see it
Dense clouds obscured our view

Blood moon or not, this week is crimson—
I’ve been thinking about blood in the Nile
blood on the lintels
death of the firstborn sons

I bought blood oranges in Fairway, yesterday
Had one for breakfast. It was sweet

Today is Good Friday—
I am meditating upon the atonement
the Cross, the death of my Savior

Now it’s evening—
I’m on my way to the Good Friday service
at the Jerusalem Center in Wayne
As I drive down Osborne Terrace
approaching Packanack Lake
the sky is incredible—amazing—red as blood
fiery red, red like I’ve never seen it before

As the setting sun shines on the still water
the lake mirrors the brilliant crimson firmament
and I can’t help thinking of old Moses
as he dipped his staff into the Nile river

At the Jerusalem Center, the dancers
fittingly extol the Lamb Who was slain, and
Jonathan speaks of the sun setting and rising—
endings and beginnings

and I feel God may be telling me something, or
am I so deeply aware of Him this holy week
that I see Him everywhere
and in every blessed thing

Maude Carolan Pych

Note: The above poem appears in my new book, "Behold the Lamb...poetically!" Elm Hill Press. You can order a copy online at Amazon or Barnes & Noble. For information go to The book is depicted below:

Here I am with a copy of my book
found on the shelves of Barnes & Noble
Woodland Park, NJ.

Sunday, March 29, 2020

The End of the Book...

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit:


Twice I heard Tony Campolo deliver
his famous and rousing sermon
It’s Friday, but Sunday’s Comin’!
at the Great Auditorium in Ocean Grove
Tony drummed home the point
that everything may look bleak on Friday, but…
come Sunday…Sunday changes everything!

Now, I’m not thinking of just any dark and bleak Friday
I’m thinking about the original Good Friday—
thinking the only reason I can bear
to contemplate that good and terrible day
is because I know
a few days later there was
a mind-blowing, miraculous Sunday—
…Resurrection Sunday!

The disciples didn’t have
the advantage I have—
They didn’t understand
life after death
couldn’t comprehend
atonement for sin
just didn’t get it
that their teacher and friend, Jesus
could die upon a cross
for the sins of the world
They didn’t realize
they were in the middle of miracles
Didn’t know the future—
Sure, they may have read portions of the Scrolls
but they didn’t have the whole wonderful Book
I do have the whole Book
I’ve read ahead
and studied the pages      
I know that what follows
the Good Friday story
is the victorious hope-giving
hallelujah happy ending

I know my sins are forgiven
know I’m going to live forever
Yes, I know what happened next
and that makes all the difference

Maude Carolan Pych

Note: The above poem is one of 98 included in my new book, "Behold the Lamb...poetically!" Elm Hill Press. You can order it online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. For information, go to