Father. It’s Time.
A poem by Rich Bowpitt
A poem based on the account of Jesus’s final prayer before he heads to the cross, as recorded in John Chapter 17. It was originally written and shared as one of a number of creative contributions at our Maundy Thursday meeting in April 2020, and you can listen to a recording and read the words below.
Father. It’s time.
From creation’s foundation, our vocation’s been love’s circulation. Source, Son and Spirit sharing jubilation without limitation. Now the shout going out, love breaking out without doubt, an invitation to all nations; the presentation of God’s incarnation, for their salvation.
Father. It’s time.
My glory a reality for all to see. Eternity’s key is me; know the one and know the son and it’s done, true life’s begun. Nothing more to be sure of what’s in store, faith in me small as a seed and you’re free indeed.
Father.
I pray for my friends. Let this impending, darkness descending, not be their ending. I pray that everyday, they may stay on the way; lives to all an invite to unite in delight and shine bright. All I’ve known, they now own, so, as they’re thrown alone into the unknown, don’t let them go. As they’ve grown, may they be sown, your glory shown. Be glorified as they abide, Spirit, reside, guide and provide from the inside a unified mind. My prayer; that their care would repair the despair everywhere when I’m not there.
Father.
I pray for those to come. Don’t let them succumb, help them become the ones to save some, to trumpet the onset of a cosmos reset. Their unity will be a plea to see me and believe; a weight of witness to a weary and warring world of what’s worth wanting. As I’m in you, you’re in them too. Do what you do, create them anew, ones in and through whom you’ll lift the gloom, see gardens bloom, make empty tombs, find room for all to be called.
Father. It’s time.
Reveal your splendour as the one non-offender surrenders to render an end to sin at the centre. Show your face as I take their place, erase their disgrace, chase that they might embrace this grace. Let them know I chose the sentence imposed — heavy load, lonely road, body exposed, blood flowed, tomb closed.
Father. It’s time.
I’ll eat the bread, tread the paths ahead as I’m led.
I’ll drink the wine, our divine design for death’s decline.
Father.
It’s time.
