Fleeing from king Ahab,
Elijah reached a lonely brook.
Scared for his dear life, 
after prophesying drought.
In this isolated spot, 
dependent solely on God, 
Elijah refreshed by cool water; 
fed twice daily by ravens.

On the top of Mt. Carmel, 
Elijah triumphed for Yahweh; 
The false god soundly defeated.
“The Lord, He is God!” 

Many, many years later, 
weary warriors from crusading, 
sited Mt. Carmel in the distance,
and chose to rest awhile

A sense of sacredness, 
overwhelmed them, 
recalling the deeds of Elijah,
Truly Yahweh’s champion.

Inspired by Elijah’s ministry, 
Preferring peace to war,
 built a chapel to pray, 
to listen to the still voice.

A wisp of a fluffy cloud, 
perhaps a warning of rain, 
after years of drought, 
in the time of Elijah.

This ragged-clad prophet, 
prophesied this drought, 
for the unfaithfulness 
of Israel to the Lord 

In contest with Baal’s priests, 
Elijah proved his point. 
Yahweh is the Lord of all, 
even the unfaithful.

Drought truly broken, 
Elijah still the hunted, 
reached another mountain, 
sheltering in a cave.

What are you doing here? 
I still have work for you. 
Climb the holy mountain, 
to discover Me there.

Where are you Lord?
Not in the howling wind, 
not in the shake of the earth, 
not in a consuming fire.

The still small voice is He.
Why is He only here?
To make me very quiet, 
in order to listen and learn.

God not finished yet, 
Elijah another lesson 
to learn His will 
in stillness and prayer.

Yahweh’s presence in the holy city. 
The centre for national identity.
Singing psalms, prayers and readings, 
celebrating the religious festivals. 

The Holy of Holies, most sacred. 
Two cherubim preciously guarded, 
the ark with its two stones, 
the Laws from Mt. Sinai.

Pilgrims travelled long distances. 
Approaching Mt. Sion they sang,
"I shall lift my eyes to the hill,”
 soon to be on holy ground.

Some abused the precincts, 
overcharging pilgrims, 
to buy the necessary sacrifice 
for the annual Passover.

Christ thought so too, 
turning merchants’ tables over, 
driving out the sellers, 
protecting his Father’s house.

Daily in the temple, 
blessed Simeon waited, 
patiently and praying 
the fulfilment of the promise.

Now in old age, 
inspired by the Spirit, 
it was the day
to bless the Child.

In his loving arms lay 
the fulfilling of the promise.
The Saviour has come, 
offering new life to all.

Like Simeon, old and devout, 
Anna waited too in prayer, 
for the coming of the Saviour 
the promise to Israel.

Surely the day will come, 
before I die the widow thought, 
continuing her fasting, 
uplifting her heart to God.

One morning visit, 
bursting out in song, 
Anna praises God’s goodness 
beholding the Holy Family. 

Marianne Dorman

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Music filled the house, 
couples danced happily, 
wine flowed copiously, 
celebrating a wedding.

Cana, not far from Nazareth, 
also Nathanael’s home, 
merriment and festivities,  
till “There is no wine.”

Among the guests, Mary, 
A shame, she thought.
Where was her Son? 
Surely He would oblige.

Jesus seems not so sure.
It is too early for signs.
Mary knew otherwise, 
directing servants to obey.

The host exclaimed,
“This is the best wine.
Enjoy and be merry.”
Mary smiled knowingly.

Stars were still shining 
as Jesus arose quietly, 
not wishing to disturb 
To be with His Father 
while silence reigns; 
His thought for the day 
before a throng found Him.

Alone, alone, alone, 
shafts of light dance 
on fluffy clouds
walking briskly 
but prayerfully 
to outside the village.

Father, no distractions, 
just you and I together, 
inspired by the Spirit 
in perfect harmony.


The sun blazed down 
on a Samaritan village.
A woman, carrying a bucket, 
approached the village well.

Little did she know, 
lowering her bucket, 
an encounter here, 
to change her ways.

For the rest of her life, 
she repeated over and over, 
“You will never thirst 
with the water I give.”

Those words gave belonging
Sharing her joy with others, 
changing lives the Lord’s way
for these happy Samaritans.

Two parties meet, 
one entering the town, 
the other leaving 
on a busy morning.

Leaving, a weeping widow 
to bury her only son, 
accompanied with mourners, 
their grief overwhelming.

Entering, a joyful group, 
chatting amongst themselves
about recent healings in Capernaum 
by their beloved Lord and Master.

On passing, Jesus stopped. 
Recognising, grief unbearable. 
“Please do not weep.
I can help you.”

Touching the bier.
With deep compassion, 
Another healing to do.
“Arise my son, comfort your mother.”

O dearest mother, 
why all these people?
What has happened?
O tell me mother.

My son, a prophet 
restored your life 
from death’s jaws 
for my assurance in widowhood. 

Wrapped in his only possession, 
another day began as usual 
for the son of Timaeus.
Would I eat today?

It was not always like this.
Once he enjoyed his work,
Until that dreadful day,
His world darkened.

Now in his usual spot 
outside the town’s gate
Bartimaeus cried with bowl 
uplifted, for generous gifts.

Soon a clamour from the people, 
different from usual disturbances.
What could it mean?
Jesus of Nazareth was passing.

My chance to be healed.
“Jesus, son of David, pity please,”
Stop that shouting, he heard.
But not Jesus. Who calls?

It is I, Bartimæus, 
throwing his cloak aside.
“What do you want my son?”
”Lord to see again.”

Looking on his uplifted face 
Radiant in morning light,
His request immediately granted 
by the Son of God.

Bartimæus sprang up.
Leaving his cloak behind, 
only one thing to do, 
to follow faithfully Jesus.