REPENTANT CLAY   By Mary Diane Valentine, Ph.D.   How fascinating is your word about the clay, You are the potter, you say.   But have I let you do your work in me? Do I lie still before you or leave your hands? To be free. Have I failed to notice your personal touch As I run around to here…there…and such? Do I ask what vessel you want to make, Or begin my own design, believing it’s for your sake?   What an illustration in your word about the clay, You are the potter, you say.   But have I let you form your likeness in me? Do I refuse to be humble before you? Try to flee. Have I looked to worldly idols in this life Been wrapped up in the rat race’s day-to-day strife?  Do I submit to your call to change my heart, Or rationalize that I’m okay, thinking I’ve done my part?   It’s intriguing in your word about the clay, You are the potter, you say.   But I’m troubled for what I’ve been in my role, Time and again, I rejected your ways. Missed your goal. I’m rebellious with my own ideas on things, Not yielded to you, or coming under your loving wings. Forgive me, Lord, for being resistant clay on the potter’s wheel, Form this vessel to your needs, I pray, and give me your holy zeal.   THE WAY HE TROD   By Sharon Martin   I cannot believe, my Holy Lord, That they have taken You by sword. Call down angels from above. Call down fire; forget about love.   Why are you quiet; why won't you speak? What is this silence You're trying to keep? Defend Yourself and let them know That God will never let You go.   You have been stripped; Your back laid bare. And all we did was stand and stare. We gaze upon your body bruised And wonder, is it really You?   They've called You names, they've hit You now. They've pushed the thorns into Your brow. The blood drips down upon Your face. And yet You stand there full of grace.   The soldiers now have had their fun. They've beaten You until they were done. They've laid upon Your back a cross. It's come to this; now all is lost.   Along the road Your mother waits. Her heart is broken by Your fate. You look upon her gentle face. She wishes she could take Your place.   You walk and fall; Your blood flows free. Surely, You haven't done this for me? I am not worthy of Love Divine. I see Your face; Your eyes meet mine.   And I behold the face of God As to Calvary You doth trod. For love of me, You gave it all. You answered true the Father's call.   I cannot bear to know my sin That caused the nails be driven in. Forgive me, Lord, for all I've done That brought You to this final end.   You hang there now and yet forgive. You've truly taught us how to live. On Sunday morn will be your hour As You arise in glorious power.   Death is vanquished in one blow To save all mankind here below. All glory, praise, and honor be To the Christ who died for me.