Thursday, June 14, 2012

It's all about...THE LAMB

June 15, 2012
Vol. 12, Issue 2
It’s all about…The Lamb

Maude Carolan Pych/Quarterly Poetry Letter

“Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power and riches

and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing.”  Rev 5:12 NASB

It’s all about…The Lamb is a quarterly publication for lovers of the Holy Lamb of God, who also enjoy poetry. The purpose is to magnify our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and inspire an ever-deepening relationship with Him, the lover of our souls…

My Dear Subscribers,

A change is coming. I’ve been publishing this poetry letter via email for more than twelve years as a ministry and labor of love. Additionally, in October, I created a poetry blog online. It’s received more than two thousand views, and has developed into an exciting way to glorify the Lord through poetry. Now, I am combining both publications. I’ll continue to post to the blog, Maude’s Poems, three or four times a month, and every quarter an edition of the e-letter will be posted that will include uplifting narrative, occasionally feature poets and writers, and present news about poetry and poetry events. You’ll easily find it all at:

Beginning with the September 15 issue, instead of receiving the poetry letter as an email publication, I will email the link to all subscribers so the blog may be easily accessed with a click of the mouse. You’ll be able to enjoy the publication with more poetry and online graphics. You will also be able to send comments directly from the blog.

I have had this in mind for a while, but since my computer crashed a few months ago and some data was lost, I decided to begin implementing changes right away on the new computer equipment.


Last week I was notified that I’ll receive an honorable mention award for a poem submitted to the national 2012 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Contest, sponsored by the Passaic County Community College, Maria Mazziotti Gillan, Director. I am particularly pleased about this because it is for At the Armory on the Sabbath Day, a poem in a series on pilgrimage to Israel, which will eventually be included in a book manuscript.  A special awards presentation reading will be held in February at The Poetry Center, in Paterson, NJ. The poem will also appear in the next edition of The Paterson Literary Review.


One of the loveliest events that I’ve had the pleasure of hosting was a poet’s tea for a few writer friends. I took an old and rarely used lace tablecloth out of the cedar chest and set the dining room table in an especially “fussy” manner, prepared a few especially fussy dishes and particularly dainty goodies and served a variety of exotic teas, ginger peach, licorice spice, jasmine and a deep red one called passion which reminds me of Jesus’ sacrifice for me. There was plenty of time to enjoy each other’s company and for each of us to read some favorite poems, ours or that of other poets. It was so enjoyable that I’m sure I’ll plan another tea another time.



My friend Barbara was invited to the poet’s tea, but was unable to join us because she and her husband were visiting family and traveling in Poland, Germany and Holland. Etta read Barbara’s poem about Mary Magdalene at the tea. It’s a poem that was published in this poetry letter in 2003. Now that she’s home from her travels, I asked if I could include it here again, and she graciously agreed.

Let me also say that Barbara won an award for one of her poems at the St. Catherine of Bologna Art, Photography & Poetry Exhibition, held in Ringwood, NJ, in March.




I walked down the streets—

Struggling with my tears—

My face hidden behind the cover

of my cloak—

The aroma of oils and spices for burial

enveloping me

with a sense of finality

I did not wish to face.

The race for freedom from Rome

was now over.

My brothers were in hiding

fearing for their lives,

Guilty by association.

So much about freedom

they didn’t understand.

But I knew one thing;

He had set me free—

Free from the sin that had

enveloped me

like the aroma of the oils and spices

I now carried—

Free from the accusing fingers of men

that had used me for their purposes.

Nothing could change that.

He loved me just as I was.

He was my Savior.

He was my Friend.

I wept. I wept

for my brothers and sisters.

I wept for Him.

I wept for myself.

My sisters joined me on this walk.

Finding no body to anoint,

they went home in disbelief.

I stayed.

This was my final offering—

the last thing I could do

for my Friend.

and I did not even know

where now His body laid.

Voices—voices from the tomb

asked, “Woman, why are you weeping?”

I answered: “They have taken away

my Lord and I do not know

where they have laid Him.”

Another voice—

the gardener I presumed—

caressed me in the dawn.

“Woman, why do you weep?”

I answered: “Sir if you

have carried Him away

tell me where you have laid Him

and I will take Him away.”

And then, my name,

“Mary”—the same familiar voice

that had caressed my heart

from the start of my new journey

from the brink of death

by stoning into life.

The stones were taken from me

that day.

Today, He rolled the final stone

of death away.

“Rabboni.” My voice quivered:

unbelief, belief,

sorrow, then joy so uncontainable

I hugged Him to be sure.

He sent me to tell the others—

My brothers.

Time stopped with me at the door,

When I told them,

When I told them,

I had seen the Lord!

Barbara R. Williams-Hubbard

© Easter, 2003

Permission to forward or copy is automatic and encouraged as long as credit is given.

Comments are welcome and appreciated.


Dear Subscriber,

Have a wonderful, relaxing, sun-shiny and blessed summer!

…and remember, when the link appears in your email box, September 15, 2012,  just a click of the mouse will bring you to Maude’s Poems and the next edition of It’s all about…The Lamb.



After God’s Own Heart Publishing

P.O. Box 2211, Woodland Park, NJ 07424

Sunday, June 3, 2012

My Valuable Possession...The Holy Bible


It’s not one of those expensive

gold edged, leather bound volumes.

Its margins are filled

with scrawled notations

gleaned from personal revelations

and years of teaching

under Jonathan and Wayne.

There are yellow highlights,

asterisks, exclamation points, arrows,

underlines, sometimes double underlines,

sometimes double underlines in red ink.

There are little line drawings, dates,

Hebrew, Greek and Aramaic

transliterations, translations,

prayers copied on blank pages in front,

prayer cards tucked in its pages,

bookmarks, tracts,

a few notes and letters.

Its pages have lost their brightness

from handling and caressing,

they’ve absorbed tears,

illuminated joys.

There are jagged pen slips

from dozing,

many index labels have fallen off.

Its spine has been repaired

again and again.

It doesn’t look like anybody’s treasure.

When I pass on,

there might be a little money,

property, some poems.

There might be a few pieces

of inexpensive jewelry.

You’ll rummage through

the way we did when Grandpa died,

when lots of things were thrown in dumpsters,

lots of things were divided up and given away.

You may be tempted to toss this book,

but, no, no, I know you’ll know

this old battered Bible

is the most valuable possession

I’ll leave behind.

Maude Carolan 

This poem mentions years of teaching under Jonathan and Wayne. The former is Jonathan Cahn, pastor/rabbi of Beth Israel Worship Center, Wayne, NJ. The latter is Rev. Wayne Monbleau, host of the "Let's Talk About Jesus," WMCA radio, 570 AM.