Madame Sat-her-day

 

 

Let me introduce you

To Madame Sat-her-day,

Just like you say the day in the week

Say it the very same way.

 

A very simple lady was she

In a straightforward way,

Five days she laboured and work

Did Madame Sat-her-day.

 

This was her Sabbath

Though she was not SDA

But she made it her covenant

Did Madame Sat-her-day.

 

She was Adventist, you see,

She believed in the Advents:

The first in a Bethlehem manger

And the second, a future event.

 

Her family and her neighbours

Knew her quite well

And if they forgot her chosen day

Soon they’d be able to tell.

 

For once by her window she sat

All knew it was Saturday

All others could work, but not she,

Was what you’d hear her say.

 

So, for all you housewives

Who’ve been working all week

Do like Madame Sat-her-day

And give yourselves a treat.

 

Get your husband’s permission

To take off the apron

And operate like Madame Sat-her-day

In a similar fashion.

 

Five days to labour

And to do everybody’s work

But on the sixth day, your Sabbath,

It’s time to become inert.

 

Like Madame Sat-her-day

Just one day a week

And you should start from today

Even as I speak.

 

 

Here’s a little footnote

That I really should not miss,

Though Saturday is her rest day

Sunday is still on her list.

 

That is for God especially

As in the traditional way

But make no mistake about day #6:

That’s for Madame Sat-her-day.

 

Wifey, don’t take me seriously,

Your name is Every-day,

That’s unlike Madame Sat-her-day;

She can stick to her way.

 

Stewart Russell © June 25, 2022

 

It Is Jesus Who Died

 

 

Why am I saying this?

You will probably ask

And my response is straight-up,

That's not a difficult task.

 

This reminder is timely

Given today’s emphasis,

We are running all over the place

And Jesus we have missed.

 

Some worship Saturday

And others worship Sunday,

Notice that the “on” is missing:

A day is our way.

 

The day is what’s critical

And don’t you ever forget

Or else you may wake up in hell-

What a terrible regret!

 

 

The Sunday law is coming

What discomfort for some!

They will lose their holy Sabbath

And be put on the run.

 

The Sunday worshippers:

They have a different fear,

Hence, they put all their eggs

In a basket of prayer.

 

Prayer obsesses them

And is their panic button

Which they will quickly depress

When something threatens.

 

They must summons God

Like 911 to the scene,

Often, they are so desperate

They actually scream.

 

Hurry up Father God!

You must do something fast,

Life is quickly ebbing away

We are not likely to last.

 

 

Often, they fill God in

As though He doesn’t know

And throw in a bargain or two

With “Your word says so”.

 

Some worship a day

Some: an obsession with prayer,

Some trust in their leader

As though he is the way.

 

But this is nothing new

As is recorded in the Bible

And the Apostle Paul addressed it

In the 1^st Corinthian epistle.

 

Some followed Apollos

And some followed Paul

Some even followed Cephas

But these were not all.

 

Some followed Christ-

Their argument was strong

But Paul in his discernment knew

Their motive was wrong.

 

 

Three questions he asked:

Was Paul crucified?

Is Christ divided?

In Paul’s name, were you baptized?

 

I changed the order

To make the second the first:

Was Paul crucified for you?

In what are you immersed?

 

Hence, the title of this poem

“It Is Jesus Who Died”,

With his blood our ransom he paid

When he was crucified.

 

It’s time to shift the focus

From a particular day,

It’s time to focus on Christ Jesus

As the one and only way.

  

Better to trust in God

Than rely on what others pray

For it is Jesus whom He sent

To open up the way.

 

Let Jesus be the centre

Of what we think and say and do

For it is Jesus who died

Not only for me but also you.

 

Stewart Russell © October 9, 2021

 

 

It’s Saturday

It’s Saturday and hope is gone

Or so it seems

The promise of our deliverance

Is gone from off the scene.

Sentenced by the Jews

But crucified by the Romans

We are left at their behest

And their whimsical summons.

It was good while it lasts

His words, his miracles, his signs

Seemingly impregnable yet vulnerable

To his destiny he had resigned.

We had thought he was the one

But how mistaken we were

Crucified, dead and buried

All our hopes with him interred.

It’s Saturday; all hope is gone

His tomb has been sealed tight

No way it can be opened

Not even if we use all our might.

And what would be the use?

He is not alive; he is dead

And all that remains since yesterday

Is a monument where lies his head.

Galilee’s waters beckon

The boats on its banks call out to us

Well, back to the daily grind

That we left in order to follow Jesus

The women are huddled in a group

Too overcome with grief to speak

The men remember the fishing boats

Thinking of Zebedee’s fishing fleet.

What more can they do?

Their champion has been dethroned

Their hope lies in yonder tomb

They are still under the yoke of Rome.

  

It is business as usual

We are faced with the old routine

We thought that it was gone forever

But now it’s back to the familiar scene.

No Jesus to brighten up our day

No Jesus to lead us in the way

No miracles, no searching for the stray

“It’s Saturday,” is all that we can say.

This Sabbath is a stark reminder

Of a promise made but not delivered

Rome is still large and in charge

Having defeated our deliverer.

It’s Saturday, I remind you

The crowds have long gone home

The crucifixion indelibly on their mind

And Caesar is still on His throne.

Stewart Russell © April 2017