Mary My Darling


Before we hear today’s sermon
Let’s invite the choir to give us a song
So Alex passes the mic to her
As she lifts her hands and leads the congregation in worship
Tears dribble down her face and with each note
Her pain inches toward an operatic crescendo
It’s like she is in a theatre with bright lights undergoing an operation
And her surgeons are the congregation whose eyes threaten to cut through her flesh
The very flesh that she can’t seem to shed

So her eyes continue to water
This emotional waterfall that bruises her cheeks
Floods her eyes and brings a reflection of yesternight in view
While they see holy hands lifted in surrender and worship to God Almighty
All she sees is guilty hands lifted in surrender on a warship to the god of all her nighties

Because her nightly duties are nothing more than watching men take shifts at harvesting the crops of lust she’s been cultivating
They whisper deceitful sweetness into her ears and tell her she is captivating
But she is the only captive in this prison; originally designed as a temple
For the High Priest to reign and flood her with love and purity
Yet here she stands with tattered dignity
Once again regretting those she called mentors
Because all they turned up to be were
Men who toured the contours of her innocence

They bought her front row tickets to watch her faith executed
The noose of abuse chokes the joy out of her eyes
As she sells her body for less than thirty pieces
She’s on death row
Suicidal thoughts cling to her head like a cornrow
No amount of dancing during praises or lifting of hands during worship
Seems to be enough currency to buy back her faith

Mic Check Mic Check
My cheque my cheque has been bounced
It bore no legitimate signature of Spirit and Truth
She thinks to herself as she makes up her mind
With a foundation of defeat and a mascara of blindness
Her eye shadow overshadows her eyes                                                                                                    From seeing the glory of hope that she sings of
Still she sings off the voice she came with
Praying that the mercy seat will turn around for a nobody like her

Hair reeking of fornication let down to clean holy feet
So that she too may taste of forgiveness so sweet
When they talk of grace
She feels unworthy
But Grace Anatomy hung on an old rugged cross
So that He may take upon himself her scars
Lion King of Judah; the original inventor of hakuna matata
So no don’t worry because I already know you’re sorry
And no! I am more than a merely cooked up story
In an ancient book of fantasy
Because there was nothing fun to see
When they opened my head
With a crown of thorns
The thorns that pierced and deflated
Your negative thoughts and ill intentions
And oh did I mention, that the whips that tore off my flesh
Tore off your flesh and its lustful desires
All that my sacrifice requires
Is that you trust not in your own will
For I am the only Smith
Who can re-craft, re-brand and remould you
From the Holy Wood that I was nailed to

She sings Withholding Nothing and beholds everything
Everything the Lord has done for her overwhelms her
So she weeps some more
Today’s tears are different from the last time she was here
These are tears of joy
Because daddy drained all her bitterness
Now when she lifts her hands in worship
It’s because of joy unspeakable
That overflows within her soul
This heart is refreshed and at rest in Your presence

So as long as tears can flow let them break the dam of my eyes
Because the electricity of your grace
Powers me up with love and sound mind
That I may be the light of the world
These tears are salty for a reason
Dear Lord, let me never forget why I’m here and how I got here
Because when they called me Mary Magdalene
You called me Mary My Darling!


Published by: Akyempo

i met the Priest...i realised that though society seems to respect the baker and despise the shepherd, the baker is not happy despite his stability and the shepherd is free to pursue the pyramids, because he is a dreamer; and one day he will meet Fatima. I am the boy; the shepherd.


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