Follow Me (An Easter Poem)
by Ryan M. Roberts
Where Jesus walked, the disciples followed;
But not all the way.
“Where I go, you cannot. You will follow later,”
Was all that He would say.
At midday prayers Peter’s words rang out,
“No matter what or where or who;
You are mine, and I am yours,
I will die with you!”
Amongst friends, huddled ‘round the fire that night;
“Hosanna in the highest!” a bright memory.
Hopes are high, resolve is low,
The glow fades into Gethsemane.
Watching ends in darkness,
Prayers turn to sleep,
And Peter’s vow, though earnest,
Was more than he could keep.
He followed at distance, into the cold dark night;
Warming hands and feet by the fire of his foe.
When asked, “You’re with Jesus, yes?”
Three times his response was, “No.”
Then came the loss, despair and death.
A look, the whip, a crown, the hill,
A cross, the cry, a spear thrust forth;
The King of Kings to kill.
Three days passed, Peter sat alone;
With guilt and regret—his choice.
Now what? Now where? Now who? . . . He’s gone?!
Peter leapt at Mary’s voice.
He ran to the tomb, bent low, went inside,
Echoes, predictions and rags filled the space.
“Tear down this temple and in three days it will rise.”
Peter left, wonder full on his face.
There were sightings and sayings that, “He is alive!”
Stories no book could contain.
Ashamed, Peter watched the Christ from a far;
He should laud, but his failures remained.
Peter said to his friends, “Let’s fish,” and they went,
To row and to cast was no chore.
The fish, they were few, but the company good,
Then they heard a voice from the shore.
Jesus was there, by the fire, cooking fish.
He said, “Come friends, let’s eat.”
Peter pledged all his love—heart, mind and soul,
Jesus smiled and replied, “Feed my sheep.”
“Your efforts and failures, left you lost and in chains,
Through my wounds and my death you are free.
Where I went, you could not go on your own,
But now, in my power, Follow Me.”