In preparation for Easter this year, I have spent some time immersing myself in some of the events of Maundy Thursday, and here is my first attempt at a sonnet. Easter’s joy is all the more poignant having entered the darkness proceeding it.
How can my master be my servant too?
Stooping, untying sandals caked with grime,
In tender strength his hands my feet renew,
His garment white is soiled in drying mine,
With laughter, celebrations fill the air,
Punctuated by sombre lifted cup,
Imbued new meaning to salvation share,
Away stole stealthy satan covered up,
He breaks, dividing bread the mystery,
Off’ring redemption’s sacrifice for all,
Into the darkness, hymns from slavery,
Up mount we climb in silence of nightfall,
Shall I my master all in this deny?
The rest may go, but surely Lord, not I!
© Jonathan Bryan