Prayerfully Poetic

A Collection of Prayerful Poems by Tim McGee

#Jesus

  • Pass it On

    Maybe this morningyou’ll catch me being Christ to someone.A quiet kindness, unseen yet felt,a patience that steadies a weary heart,a love that does not ask but gives. Maybe this morningyou’ll see the face of God in my eyes.No radiant brilliance or grandeur,just a soft smile of mercy,and the warmth of a heart turned outward. Maybe Read more

  • Mercy

    Is not a wordbut a movement.It stoops beside the broken man,bleeding by the road,and will not pass by. It does not tally wrongslike coins in a ledger,but breaks the scaleand offers bread instead. Mercy speaks softlyto the woman in shame,“Neither do I condemn you,”and in the same breath:“Go, sin no more.”It is not indulgence.It is Read more

  • If I may ask

    It seems clear while watchingthe heron lift from the pond,wings stretching toward the sky,moving the air beneath its expanse,God’s in charge. I am not. And yet, if I may ask,as one asks the windwhy it bends the palm but fells the oak? what of love,pulling us toward one anotherwhile leading us to You? While no Read more

  • My Revelation

    The revelation given to me,a witness in the square,as I stood as one among thousands,the multitude drawn as by the breath of the Spirit. And I, a pilgrim,took my place beside a pillar of stone,watchful, praying, awaiting the sign. My wife was among the throng,caught in the river of humanity,as crimson-clad men entered the sacred Read more

  • The Abyss of Mercy

    There is an oceandeeper than sorrow,wider than the cry of a thousand aching hearts.It is Mercy,unfolding from the pierced side of Christ,spilling into the dust of our ruin. Faustina saw it:a torrent of Light,two rays like living breath,one of blood and one of water,justice and pardon,the wound and the healing,the cross and the crown. She Read more

  • Broken Crayons

    The snapped crayon,splintered in weary hands,no longer whole, no longer perfect—just a fragment of what once was. God gathers the pieces,pressing them against the canvas of eternity,where cracks do not limit color,but deepen its depth, its meaning, its grace. The jagged edges, the worn-down tips,the wax too melted to hold its shape.He does not discard, Read more

  • We Watched, We Sang, We Tell

    We watched Him die,the sky torn open,the earth groaning beneath the weight of sorrow.We stood, breathless,at the foot of the splintered tree,where mercy bled and hope seemed lost. We wept  (oh, how we wept)until the silence of the tombbecame the silence of our own hearts. But then,O morning of mornings!stone rolled away, light pouring in,and Read more

  • The Fullness of the Empty Tomb

    The stone was rolled but not by handsNor Roman might nor weeping friendBut by the weight of Glory’s breathThe crushing of death’s own end What fullness speaks from emptinessWhat voice resounds from vacant spaceYet here within this hollowed graveEternity unveils its face The linen folds no body’s weightYet every wound is sanctifiedThe marks remain but Read more

  • What’s Good about Good Friday?

    Not the thorn,twisted cruelly into brow,nor the lash,ripping skin from bone,nor the jeering mouths,spitting scorn at Love Incarnate. Not the timber’s weight,splitting the shoulders of Innocence,nor the hammer’s pounding,sealing wrists to splintered wood,nor the blood, thickening the earth,unrecognized by the ones it would ransom. The good is deeper and more powerful,buried beneath agony,seeded in sorrow. Read more

  • The Stations of the Cross

    The Fourteenth Station, Jesus is laid in the Tomb The stone is rolled, and silence reigns,a hush of grief, a weight of pain.The hands that healed, the feet that walked,now still—no breath, no voice to talk. The ones who loved, who stood, who wept,press trembling hands where He once stepped.A mother’s touch, a mourner’s sigh,a Read more