I will be preaching tomorrow so I thought I would share a poem for Ascension.

No shouts of joy were heard on Olivet.

No trumpets fanfared Risen One’s adieu.

His friends stood trembling, wondering where He was,

And rushed in terror, locked and barred the door.

Ascension Day in context, loss not joy;

No triumph issued from this bruised elect.

Their hopes stood dashed; and rudderless, adrift,

They felt bereft, a horrored disconnect.

If Triumph, trumpet blast or joyous shout,

Is heard at all this day, it issues down.

God sees what lies ahead but knows the grief,

At present, of these frightened fisherman.

The ever wounded One unlocks the gate

And enters, in His robes of Victimhood.

The ring, the sandal, that He set aside,

Are now returned, washed in His martyr’s blood.

The chorus gathers volume. Rank on rank

The choirs proclaim His rising from the tomb.

They carol out the Song with which, in time,

The Holy Spirit’s power will flood a room.