A contemplative service with music in the spirit of Taize. Carrie Grace Littauer, prayer leader, with music by Kester Limner and Andy Myers.
Permission to podcast/stream the music in this service obtained from One License with license #A-710-756 with additional notes below:
“Were You There (When They Crucified My Lord)” Traditional Black American Spiritual, Arrangement by Kester Limner, shared under the Creative Commons license, attribution (CC-BY)
“Jesus the Lord is Risen (Surrexit Dominus Vere II)” Copyright and all rights reserved by GIA/Les Presses de Taizé
“Rabboni Beloved” By Kester Limner and Andy Myers, shared under the Creative Commons License, Attribution (CC-BY)
“Even In Sorrow” Composed by Kester Limner in March 2020 for the people of St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Seattle, shared under the Creative Commons License, Attribution (CC-BY)
Thank you for praying with us!
by Joy Lenton
“When the Sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. And they were saying to one another, ‘Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance of the tomb?’ And looking up, they saw that the stone had been rolled back—it was very large. And entering the tomb, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, dressed in a white robe, and they were alarmed. And he said to them, ‘Do not be alarmed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen; he is not here. See the place where they laid him.’” — Mark 16:1-6 ESV
Privileged
You gave a special place,
an honoured role
to the women you had known,
allowing them to break
with convention by listening
in on your words,
lavishing love with costly perfume,
and being the first
to greet you from the tomb.
Even if Mary, blinded by her grief,
failed to recognise you
immediately, in the speaking
of her name
you made sure she understood
just who she met at dawn,
who was risen,
resurrected in full strength,
like the morning sun.
The women were gifted
with the charge
of telling the disciples, of sharing
the Good News
that you were not dead
but very much alive,
with scarred hands and feet,
a pierced head where sharp
thorns had been,
and a wounded side.
How I would have loved
to have been among
their number, excited,
elated at the revelation
of your resurrection
being true, just like you said,
knowing they could trust
your words of reassuring love
as daily manna bread.
But instead I am privileged
to have your very own spirit
living within,
your eternal presence
and your word to guide me
as I seek to follow you
each and every day
with Holy Spirit’s help,
his wisdom, grace and truth
stemming from your holy realm.
© joylenton
There are many mistreated and disadvantaged women worldwide who deserve to live more fully and freely than their country, culture or society allows them to. Therefore, it’s encouraging to note the honour and respect; the inclusiveness that Jesus gave to the women he encountered, especially as they were living in a strictly demarcated, patriarchal society.
He didn’t consider them to be second-class citizens or hold them in contempt. On the contrary, he scandalised his disciples by the way he welcomed women to hear his preaching, allowed close physical contact with those considered unclean, and gave them important roles in his pre-crucifixion and resurrection stories. This is heartening for us, particularly when we might feel downtrodden or not enough.
Precious Lord Jesus,
Help us to see how very privileged we are to be in relationship with you and enjoy the tremendous blessings it imparts to us. We needn’t feel short-changed at all because we didn’t live during the years when you came to earth or get to know you then, because we have the Holy Spirit living in our hearts.
Despite how wonderful it would have been to see you face to face, now you are risen from the tomb, we have been given instant access to Father God whenever we want to. Our prayers ascend like incense to heaven’s throne room where you continually intercede for us. We thank you for the enormous privileges we have as people of the cross.
Amen
Photo by Pisit Heng on Unsplash
Check out our Lent, Holy Week, and Easter resource page for inspiring posts, helpful products and resources, and gathered lists of liturgies and more to help you plan an Easter service, a solo journey through Holy Week, or a family adventure.
A few years ago I was preaching at a church in Pietermaritzburg and I asked the people if they thought the world was getting worse or better. One old gentleman stood up and passionately declared, “John, the world is so bad now it can’t possibly get any worse!” Of course he was very aware of the crime, greed, corruption, and abuse of power that we hear about in the news every day. But, if the cross tells us anything, it’s that this is nothing new. The world has always been this way.
But, here’s the uncomfortable challenge of the cross—it holds us responsible for the state of the world. Jesus died because evil blamed him for stirring rebellion, for not playing by the (corrupt) system, and even for blasphemy. Sometimes we crucify others by blaming them for our sinfulness, our brokenness, our selfishness. As the old saying goes: We have seen the enemy and it is us.
But, here is where the cross also offers us hope. Because Jesus did not lose faith. He did not give up his innocence. Even as evil threw its worst at him, Jesus did not become evil—he disarmed it. And through the power of the cross he empowers us to do the same, in our own hearts and in the world. This is why today is GOOD Friday: because it’s the day goodness was not overcome by evil, but disarmed evil.
And this is the great challenge of our faith. This is what we are called to be as followers of Jesus—those who stop co-operating with evil, who are no longer overcome by evil, but who disarm it in Christ’s power. There are two simple, but difficult and powerful, things that Jesus did to disarm evil on Good Friday, and we can learn them from him.
STOPPING EVIL IN ITS TRACKS
A few years ago, on a camp where I was a leader, I was asked by a teenage girl if she could talk to me. She proceeded to tell me that a few years before her boyfriend’s father had driven her home. The two of them were alone in the car and he had stopped in a quiet road, under a bridge, and had raped her. And all she could say to me was that she was desperate for revenge. She could not forgive him and never would. My heart broke because I knew that until she could find a way to let go of that anger and hatred, she would never be free of her abuser. *
But, here in the cross Jesus does the opposite. As he looks at the people who are killing him he prays, “Father forgive them…” And at that moment Jesus proclaims to the world, “Evil stops here! The cycle of violence, hatred, injustice, and brokenness ends with me!” Jesus refused to adopt the ways of evil to achieve God’s Reign.
Forgiveness is the only thing that can stop evil in its tracks. It refuses to let evil make our choices for us. Calvin Miller defines vengeance in his book The Singer in this way: “Vengeance (noun): Eye for eye, tooth for tooth. A fair, satisfying, and rapid way to a sightless, toothless world.” But Jesus’ forgiving response breaks this cycle and stops the power of evil in its tracks.
Where in your life are you tempted to respond with ‘an eye for an eye?’ How can you embrace Jesus’ response of “Father, forgive them…”? It’s not easy. The pain may remain for a long time. But, as we continue to choose to let go of our bitterness, so it slowly dissipates and disappears. This is the way of faith, the way of the cross.
PUSHING EVIL BACK
The problem with forgiveness is that it can seem passive in the face of evil. It’s as if we’re expected to ‘just forgive and leave it at that.’ But that’s not actually what the way of the cross does. Jesus was not passive in the face of evil. He was highly confrontational.
Jesus confronted the evil—or the potential for evil—in himself. When he went into the wilderness at the start of his ministry, he was tempted to use the means of evil to accomplish God’s ends. If there was no chance for him to fall, it wasn’t really a temptation. For him to have been tempted as we are (as Hebrews 4:15 says), there had to have been a chance that he would choose the wrong way. Then years later, at Gethsemane, he faced his greatest fears but did not succumb. Jesus confronted the potential for evil in himself and he pushed it back.
But he also confronted the evil outside of himself. The evil in his community and country, in the politicians and leaders who exploited the poor and oppressed the vulnerable. The whole journey through the cross was a direct confrontation with the forces of sin, injustice, oppression, and evil.
Notice what’s really going on here. It’s not Jesus who is really on trial. It’s Pilate. When Jesus died the people who condemned him walked away in deep sorrow. Even one of the Roman soldiers could not help but declare that he was innocent, righteous, God’s Son. Confronting evil is not about meeting force with force. It’s simply making the truth about evil known. Asking the right questions: ‘Is this the world we want?’ ‘Is this the person I want to be?’ And if the answer is no, then we commit to change—inside and out.
Many years ago my wife and I were invited to the wedding of a couple who were good friends. They were especially concerned for poor and disadvantaged people, and so they requested their guests not to give them gifts. Instead, they asked that the money that we all would have paid for the gifts be given to one of a list of charities that they believed in. This was a confrontation with the evil of poverty, but in a very gentle, creative way. This is what it means to live the faith of the cross. This is what we do when we are desperate to bring goodness into the world in some way.
IT’S FRIDAY, BUT SUNDAY’S COMING:
One of the men who died next to Jesus mocked him, “Save yourself and us.” But that’s exactly what Jesus was doing. He was breaking the power of evil by stopping it in its tracks, by refusing to allow it to take hold of him, and by revealing its true, destructive nature.
It may look like evil wins—as it seems on Good Friday. But, the truth is that, in the way of the cross and in believing in its power, evil is overcome. And when that happens, resurrection is always just around the corner. Or, as one old preacher put it, “It’s Friday. But Sunday’s coming!”
My purpose in this post was to highlight how forgiveness frees us from the ghost of those who have done us harm, and how that freedom can bring us healing.
I apologise for the lack of clarity in how I expressed my thoughts and for any hurt that has been caused as a result.
John
Editor’s Note: Check out this post about John van de Laar’s new Easter season resource! You can check it out now from our resource page on Lent/Easter, or directly here: Back to Life – Experience Your Own Resurrection
Photo by Sincerely Media on Unsplash
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by June Friesen
Maundy Thursday is celebrated in different ways in the Christian church. For some churches there is a morning as well as an evening service. And for different churches there are different ways of remembering this time in Jesus’ life and the life of His disciples. Jesus had explained to His disciples some time before when they were alone with Him about this time – but one has to wonder if they like me may not have remembered it. This is recorded in Mark 9.
Mark 9:30-32 – He didn’t want anyone to know their whereabouts, for he wanted to teach his disciples. He told them, “The Son of Man is about to be betrayed to some people who want nothing to do with God. They will murder him. Three days after his murder, he will rise, alive.” They didn’t know what he was talking about, but were afraid to ask him about it.
This was some time before the last week before Jesus’ crucifixion – I am not sure exactly where it was on the timeline. As I pondered the above verses, I wondered to myself – ‘would I have understood what Jesus was saying? How would I have reacted?’ We often forget that the twelve disciples were human just like you and I – they had no vision or extraordinary revelation that we are aware of about what was ahead of them when they chose to accept the call and follow Jesus.
Earlier this week we celebrated the entrance of Jesus into the city of Jerusalem for the celebration of the Passover Feast. He was active in the city and it says He spent time teaching in the Temple area during these days. But now the ‘Time’ is at hand.
How is your ‘time at hand’? How is my ‘time at hand’?
As this week in 2022 has progressed each one of us will continue to have different experiences in our lives and different ways of observing and remembering this time with Jesus. For some of us, we may be facing restrictions in our celebrations/remembrances due to continued issues with the pandemic, issues with health concerns that limit our mobility, issues with war, political and even religious unrest in some countries/areas, some may even fear persecution of some kind, etc. This may be a time when we take the time to sit in the presence of the Spirit allowing Him to minister not only to our own personal spirit but to also be open to the Spirit’s guidance in how we can embrace and pray for God’s presence and strength to help those who are face difficulty at this time.
This night was also a solemn night for Jesus as He knew that Judas would no longer be among His followers. His heart was broken already for Judas yet Jesus did not reprimand him or ridicule him in front of the other disciples – rather, Jesus released Judas.
I personally have struggled with this ‘letting go of Judas.’ And as I struggle with it I find myself realizing it is all about the free will that God allows each one of us to have. And I have to ask myself, ‘Am I willing like Jesus to allow each person to make their decision in how they follow God/Jesus?’
This was also considered the time that Jesus washed the feet of His disciples. How did Judas react or feel when Jesus was washing his feet? What might have been the conversation between Judas and Jesus at that time, if there was any? And if Jesus wanted to call Judas out, why didn’t He do it then rather than seemingly in front of the other eleven? So as you and I sit imagining Jesus washing our feet today before celebrating the communion meal with Him what may it be that Jesus may be praying over each of us?
Matthew 26:17-19 17 On the first of the Days of Unleavened Bread, the disciples came to Jesus and said, “Where do you want us to prepare your Passover meal?” 18-19 He said, “Enter the city. Go up to a certain man and say, ‘The Teacher says, My time is near. I and my disciples plan to celebrate the Passover meal at your house.’” The disciples followed Jesus’ instructions to the letter, and prepared the Passover meal …
26-29 During the meal, Jesus took and blessed the bread, broke it, and gave it to his disciples:
Take, eat. This is my body.
Taking the cup and thanking God, he gave it to them:
Drink this, all of you.
This is my blood, God’s new covenant poured out for many people
for the forgiveness of sins.“I’ll not be drinking wine from this cup again until that new day when I’ll drink with you in the kingdom of my Father.”
30 They sang a hymn and went directly to Mount Olives.
THE FINAL WALK TO GETHSEMANE
What must that walk have been like that night so long ago?
Was it a time of total silence?
Everyone alone with their own thoughts?
May there have been some weeping?
Would there have been some whispering among them?
Would they have been clustered close together?
Close to their Master in hopes to maybe protect Him?
Or hear a word or two of hope?
What must the face of the Master looked like on that path?
Would it show the occasional tear on His cheek that slipped from His eye?
Were His footsteps slow, maybe a bit uncertain at times?
Or did He walk with a hurried step to meet with His Father –
The only One who completely understood His heart of agony?
Was it totally dark already?
Or was the sun in its final setting moments?
Were there any lights along the way?
Or did the Master know the path so well no other light was needed?
Everyone was becoming more weary with each step,
How far into the garden are we going they may have wondered?
Then as they entered the garden He told some they could stay there and watch
While He took Peter, James and John with Him a little further –
Then He too told Peter, James and John they could sit down –
But He told them to be alert and pray.
And then the agony began for the Master –
As He now began to face the reality of beginning the time where He would be alone –
Not only alone on the earth –
But to face that point of taking on the sin of humanity and then being alone without the Father’s presence…..
He prayed … and He prayed some more …
He wept … the tears flowed from His eyes …
He was sweating in agony … so much so His capillaries burst
And drops of blood fell from His face in overwhelming grief …
It was there my Jesus, your Jesus, the disciples’ Jesus –
The Jesus of the world began His intense suffering that ended in physical, human death
And He sought the One and Only One, His Father for the strength to make it through –
Declaring: “NOT MY WILL, BUT YOUR WILL BE DONE, O FATHER.”
And with that commitment He was then prepared
To walk the final steps through the torturing trial and crucifixion
For all of humanity from the beginning of time to the end of time.
Amen.
Writings and photographs by June Friesen. Scriptures are from the Message Translation. The beginning photo is from the Saint Joseph Shrine ‘Stations of the Cross’ in Yarnell, Arizona.
Check out our Lent, Holy Week, and Easter resource page for inspiring posts, helpful products and resources, and gathered lists of liturgies and more to help you plan an Easter service, a solo journey through Holy Week, or a family adventure.
by Carol Dixon
Some years ago I was introduced to the Ignatian practice of imagining yourself present in one of the Gospel stories and imagining what one of the characters might have been feeling is a good way to start. My reflective poems for Holy Week and beyond are some of my responses to what might have happened from different perspectives. I hope you enjoy reading them. You may like to read the Passion narratives again yourself and think about which character you identify with today.
Editor’s note: This is part of a series. For Parts 1 & 2, click here.
Part 3 – EASTER DAY
He spoke my name
He spoke my name.
That was how I knew it was him.
No-one ever said my name
like that, before, or since.
I’d had to get out of the city –
the claustrophobic confines
of the upper room, the sombre
atmosphere, forced conversation,
drove me mad; so I stumbled
down the outside stair onto
the quiet paving stones below
and followed my feet.
I wasn’t aware of where I was heading
but found myself back in the garden.
I hadn’t meant to go there
yet when I reached the place I thought
at least I’d be doing something;
replacing the spices, re-arranging
the grave clothes, anything
to keep me close to him.
Then I remembered the stone,
the huge boulder blocking the way,
sealed with Caesar’s insignia,
ringed round with Roman guards.
I couldn’t bear to turn back,
empty hearted, now I’d come so close,
so I pressed on, hoping against hope
for a miracle, just a small something –
a kindly soldier, or friendly passer-by –
so I could see him just once more,
at peace. Not like the last time:
barely cold, broken, lying immobile
while his broken hearted mother wept
as we struggled to do the right thing
and prepare his battered body
before the Sabbath curfew began.
But when I reached the tomb – nothing!
No seal, no stone, no body;
an empty shell with no-one inside.
Oh God! Don’t say they’ve taken him,
defiled in death the body of the Man
I loved; who loved me, and all who
followed, with the passionate love of God.
I looked around frantically and,
in the distance, I espied a figure
in the burgeoning daylight, silhouetted
by the brightening rays of early sun.
Thank God! The gardener.
I hastened to him, falling at his feet:
‘Oh Sir,’ I said, ‘If you know
who has taken him, tell me,
so I can go and get him.’
And then I heard my name,
spoken, as if I’d never heard it before:
‘Mary!’ and I knew. In that moment
I knew everything.
He gently prised my grasping hands
aside and raised me to my feet,
and bade me tell the others
he would see them, back in Galilee.
He spoke my name.
And all my world was filled with joy –
the joy of a new beginning.
| The Garden
‘Very early on Sunday morning, just after sunrise,’ [Mark 16: 2] He watched the trees wafting In some ways, the pain and Even after he accepted the cup, Therefore, in this awakening garden, |
The Gardener
(Tune Traditional: Have you seen my bonny lad?) ‘Tell, if you know where my Lord is laid,’ cries Mary, heart torn with grieving. The Gardener looks on, his heart filled with love. But sorrow stops Mary believing. ‘O Mary, it’s me!’ the Gardener replies, ‘Can you not see through your grieving? A while I was gone, but now I return. Dry all your sad tears, start believing.’ ‘Lord, I believe, I understand now; (the power of death was deceiving), and doubt and despair are things of the past: now I can live truly believing.’ When life is filled with darkness and fear, or the heart is weighed down with grieving the Gardener is near and calls us by name and leads us through doubt to believing. © Stuart J. Brock (Used with permission)
|
The Road to Emmaus
We were walking slowly. Taking our time you might say, for there were about seven miles to go. I’m not sure that I really wanted to return to our lodging at Emmaus. I wanted to stay in Jerusalem with the others. The other women, that is. We needed to think about what had happened to us that morning. What we had seen and heard. Even if none of the men believed us. Perhaps, just perhaps, we need not be in despair, as we had been since Friday evening. But Cleopas wanted to get away. He was heartsick with grief and disappointment. He had been so sure that Jesus was the one who would save us, which for him meant somehow getting rid of the Romans. He wasn’t exactly a zealot, you understand, but if push had come to shove, he was ready to man the barricades under Jesus’s leadership. So he had been desolate since Friday, and he was indignant that the strange message that Jesus had risen – even if he didn’t believe it – should have been given to women.
He couldn’t leave it alone. He mourned the death of our leader. He lamented the lost opportunity. He questioned me about what the men – the angels? – had said to us. I wished he would be quiet, though I didn’t say it. I had never been quite sure about Jesus as a king in this world, leading a military coup. It didn’t seem like him. It contradicted most of the things he had ever said. And I wanted to think quietly about what happened this morning. To ponder in my heart.
Then I realised there was someone walking beside us. I don’t know when he joined us, or where he came from. I didn’t think it was anyone I knew. He seemed to be listening to Cleopas’s diatribe, and my dutiful answers. Then he spoke. It wasn’t a voice I recognised, and yet…
“What is it that you are talking about?”
We stopped and looked at him. Cleopas said, “You must be the only person in Jerusalem that doesn’t know about what’s been happening there these last days.” I smiled to myself. Trust Cleopas to think his concerns were at the forefront of everybody’s mind. I was pretty sure that most of the people who were visiting Jerusalem had kept well out of the way of trouble and only had a hazy idea of the matter. Cleopas continued, “How the authorities took Jesus of Nazareth who was a prophet and a teacher, and our leader, and handed him over to the Romans to be crucified. We thought – hoped that he was the one who would deliver Israel, but we can forget that now. And then, if you please, some of the women in our group,” he carefully didn’t look at me, “went to the tomb this morning and came back with a cock and bull story about him having risen from the dead. I ask you!”
The stranger shook his head and spoke rebukingly – yet I thought there was a smile in his eyes. “How foolish you are. Don’t you understand anything you’ve been told? Don’t you remember what the prophets have said?” Then he set to and explained everything Isaiah and the other prophets has said about the Messiah, and what would happen to him. It made perfect sense. Suddenly, Friday didn’t seem such a disaster. We could understand why it had to happen. I was almost happy. I felt a warm glow inside. It reminded me of that time we sat in a great crowd on the hillside and Jesus told us how we should behave.
By the time he’d finished we had reached Emmaus. As we turned into the house, the stranger seemed to be going on, but Cleopas stopped him. “It’s getting late,” he said. “Come in and stay with us.” So he came in with us. I put food and wine upon the table. We sat down and he picked up the bread. I watched his hands, fascinated. He blessed the bread, broke it, and handed it to us, with that gesture we had seen so many times. We both gasped. It was the Lord. But even as we realised, he just wasn’t there anymore.
We stared at each other. We knew this was something we had to share with everyone. With the whole world! But first… “We must go back to Jerusalem and tell the others,” I said. “ Are you sure you want to? Won’t you be too tired?” He asked.
“Tired! I feel as if I could walk all round the Middle Sea and not be tired.” So we set off back the way we had come. But oh, how differently. We discussed what Jesus had told us, making sure we understood what he meant. We laughed and rejoiced. Cleopas wasn’t grumbling now.
It must have taken us nearly two hours to get back but it felt like a few minutes. We burst into the room where our friends were. “The Lord is Risen!” exclaimed Cleopas. “Indeed He is.” They replied. “Simon has seen him.” Poor Cleopas. He so wanted to be first with the news. But he swallowed his chagrin and told them all that had happened and what Jesus had said to us. © Fiona Middlemist (Used with permission)
(Author’s note: There is a theory that the unnamed traveller to Emmaus was a woman, that is, the wife of Cleopas. I have wondered if she was also one of the women at the tomb that morning. Different Gospels give different accounts of who went on that sad errand. If you look in the previous section of the chapter of Luke you will see that he mentions “Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James and the other women. On the assumption that this woman was one of them, I have tried to imagine how she viewed this experience of encountering the risen Lord. In John’s Gospel, one of the women at the Cross was named as ‘Mary the wife of Cleopas. Perhaps this was the same woman.)
Part 4 – RESURRECTION LIFE
Thomas
I’ve just spent the worst few weeks of my life!
Everything was wonderful – then it fell apart.
That last supper with Jesus was something special,
despite the undercurrents of unease
and the usual bickering over which one of us –
his closest friends – would be the greatest.
Well, we all failed that one spectacularly I can tell you.
Judas most of all. I still can’t understand why he did it –
betraying Jesus to the authorities.
Peter didn’t come out of it too well either –
denying he ever knew him.
I must admit though at least Peter had the guts to go
with John to the trial (if you can call it that –
stitch-up more like). The rest of us just scattered.
I couldn’t follow him to the Cross, seeing the Lord we loved reduced
to a tortured, bleeding lump of humanity.
The stench of sweat and excrement – of death, hanging in the air.
But it wasn’t that I couldn’t stand.
I suppose I could have steeled myself to watch his stretched out agony,
the pain of listening to them taunting him,
the embarrassment of his being killed as a common felon.
No, it was his love I couldn’t bear.
Still loving to the end. Loving them – his enemies;
loving us – his unfaithful friends. Loving me.
And afterwards – it was all we talked about in the upper room;
every sordid detail, over and over again.
Then on Sunday morning that madwoman from Magdala
came in with such a tale: She’d seen him, talked to him, touched him.
I couldn’t take it in. I just cut and ran.
When I got back the rest of them were at it.
“You’ve just missed him,” they said. “He’s been here.
We gave him the leftovers from supper.”
I thought they were having me on at first, then I realised they meant it.
I told them straight: “You’re all crazy. I’ll never believe it – not unless
I can put my finger in the nail holes and stick my hand in the wound in his side.”
And I turned my back on it and walked out.
[Read John chapter 20 verses 26-31 and find out what happened]
Photo © Jackson David Unsplash
A prayer
Loving Lord, often like Thomas we doubt your power
to rise above the death-like situations
in our lives and in our world.
When we recall the sudden deaths, murders,
painful experiences, and serious illness
of people around us, some of whom
we know and love personally;
When we think of the wars, terrorist bombings,
famines, and other disasters which wreak havoc
around us, we want to run away and hide.
Help us to have the courage
to reach out and touch your scars,
borne for the world, and for us,
so that we may be healed,
renewed, and see your risen life
in the broken people and places
of our world, and acclaim you again
as our Lord and our God. Amen.
| Watcher on the shore
‘There stood Jesus on the beach; but the disciples did not know it was Jesus.’ [John 21: 4] Sitting on the shore He regarded them more He looked at the sea To be able to look on ‘Cast your nets on the
|
At the lakeside
It was the lad – John – who saw him first; Afterwards when everyone was sated and settled ‘Yes, Lord,’ I said again. ‘You know I love you.’ I looked back and saw the lad was following. And I did, to the end…. So can you. |
Photo 
Acknowledgements
Some of the above have been published by the Iona Community Wild Goose publications who are happy for them to be used for non-commercial purposes with the acknowledgement (C) Carol Dixon Iona Wild Goose Publications – All heaven weeps [Candles & Conifers]; Sister of Mary [Spring] ; At the lakeside [Fire & Bread] all edited by Ruth Burgess.
I have also included two items written by friends of mine with their permission.
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by Carol Dixon
Some years ago I was introduced to the Ignatian practice of imagining yourself present in one of the Gospel stories and imagining what one of the characters might have been feeling is a good way to start. My reflective poems for Holy Week and beyond are some of my responses to what might have happened from different perspectives. I hope you enjoy reading them. You may like to read the Passion narratives again yourself and think about which character you identify with today.
Editor’s Note: This is part of a series. For parts 3&4, click here
Part 1 – SUPPER PARTIES
Martha reflects …..
Free to be
Yes,
of course I was scandalised, shocked
by my sister’s behaviour at the banquet
we held in the Master’s honour,
expressing our undying gratitude
to celebrate our brother’s incredible
return, from the bonds of death
and the tomb.
At this supper party there
was only rejoicing – no time
for teaching, or sitting at the foot
of a respected Rabbi, like lads
receiving their learning
in school.
She had been such a help all day,
in the kitchen, waiting on the men
as they ate – exactly what women
have done in every generation.
She’s growing up at last, I thought.
Then this!
She came in meekly enough,
carrying her precious alabaster jar,
left as a dowry by our father.
I have one exactly the same.
I polished it yesterday before
the guests arrived and put it back
on the shelf in the cupboard –
the only place in the house
with a lock.
She knelt on the floor in front of him
and broke the seal – the exotic perfume
pervaded the place, its heavy scent
almost took our breath away.
Her audacious actions did that
when she removed her veil, allowing
her hair to fall freely, hanging loose
and lustrous in front of the entire
company.
Slowly she poured the expensive
ointment over his calloused feet,
washing them first with her tears
and tenderly wiping them, as though
there were only the two of them
in the room, only the two of them
in the world.
It was such an intimate, private
moment, it seemed almost intrusive
to watch; till Judas jealously broke
the silence with his caustic comment
about the poor, voicing the acute
embarrassment
of us all.
The Master, as always, saw past
her generous gesture and looked
into all our hearts, commending her
for what she did, while the rest of us
felt shamed – not by her lavish love,
but by our own meagre
response.
So, yes, I was shocked
and scandalised; of all the people
gathered there that night, only
my little sister, Mary, had the heart
to act upon her impulsive intuition
and serve the Lord, without restraint,
casting aside the bonds of convention,
letting go of dignity and pride,
to give her all.
| Foot-washing
Photo: © Julian Sanders Then Jesus took a towel It was Mary who started it – who sowed the seed of the idea in my mind, to wash the feet of my friends. Her absolute humility, and adoration as she poured out the perfumed ointment, anointing me for my burial. She didn’t care that others were scandalised, as Peter was when I first knelt to wash his feet, yet in the end he embraced the act with joy. I’ll never know what Judas felt; perhaps he revolted inwardly as I stooped before him, offering my whole-hearted love. Something had changed in him the night he saw Mary prostrate herself at my feet; the crisis had been coming for a while. It wasn’t just the money, it was her utter devotion; maybe he suspected he could never match that and second best was not enough for him. So he distanced himself from me, from the cause, from the kingdom, recoiling from the intimacy that I wanted to share with all as I knelt with bowl and towel. If you had been there, ask yourself, What would you have done?
|
The Upper room
It was a night like any other night – In the candlelight, comfortable, replete, Yet on that night something was different. Then, as the meal progressed, a moment of tension, And party it was – with fun and laughter, ‘As I am broken for you – be broken for each other, And so the precious promise passed,
|
Part 2 – THE WAY OF THE CROSS
He was held down
He was held down,
One kneeling on him,
Pinioning each arm
As nails were driven
Into his flesh,
While he lay helpless
On the hard ground.
People standing by
Looked on, silent,
In the face of authority
As he gasped
‘Father, forgive them,
For they know not
What they do.
Father, forgive us
For each time
We condone
Injustice and hate,
Allow mob rule
And violence to prevail,
Or stand idly by
While those in authority
Go unchallenged,
When we refuse to forgive,
Forget to bring your peace
And love for all to the world,
For each time we do
Christ is crucified again.
All heaven weeps
All heaven weeps
To see the earth
Abused and maimed by war and strife;
When people hate,
When people fight,
And rob each other of their life.
Chor: Kyrie Elieson, Kyrie Elieson
Lord have mercy, God forgive us, for we know not what we do.
When greed prevails
And, crushed by power,
The poor are trampled on for gain,
The heart of God
Is torn in two,
And Christ is crucified again.
Chor: Kyrie Elieson, Kyrie Elieson
Lord have mercy, God forgive us, for we know not what we do. (2x)
All Heaven Weeps:
| The Centurion
Icon: The Crucifixion I never recognised him – can you believe that? The man who healed my servant all those years ago – was it only three? – in Capurnaum; who gave the order, like I give orders every day, and the boy was saved. Here, on Skull Hill, I gave another order; nails were hammered through flesh and our detachment strung the three of them up. The lads settled down to their dicing to while away the waiting time – always the worst part. I didn’t join in. Who wants to win a sweat-stained bundle of peasants’ clothes? Instead I stood and watched the small crowd gathered near his Cross – no trouble-makers here, just a group of broken-hearted relatives and friends keeping a last vigil by his side, while the sky darkened at the sun’s eclipse. It reminded me of descending into the darkness of the Mithraum at my initiation rite when, as a young soldier, proud to wear the uniform of Rome, I had been spattered by the blood of the sacrificial bull – hot, sticky – the stench stayed with me for days, a sign of salvation, they said, though nothing changed. Yet here, as his blood spurted from his pierced side, something happened – I’m still not sure what; life goes on the same as usual – orders given and received; but somehow, by HIS blood, I am…. different – healed. Surely this man was the Son of God.
|
The sister of Mary
Icon: Taking Down From The Cross I didn’t want to be here, you know. Here, at the crucifixion; but I had to come because of his mother, my sister. I had to be there for her. Jesus was the joy of her heart, the apple of her eye, her first born – never mind how he was conceived – first born are always special in a way, and he was, mark my words, he was; so good at following in his father’s footsteps. Then after Joseph died it all changed. Oh he remained for a while as head of the household but as soon as his brothers and sisters were able to support their mother, he was off. First of all he went to follow that wild cousin of his, John (what a disappointment he must have been to his elderly parents), the desert man, living off locusts and wild honey, just like one of those strange prophets, long ago. But Jesus didn’t stay long with him. No, he came back up north and soon had quite a following himself – a mixed bunch from fishermen to tax collectors, the riff raff of society – with a few zealots thrown in. So it’s little wonder he ended up here, really, crucified between two criminals. it shouldn’t have happened though – he wasn’t a rebel
He was good and kind and healed people, helped whoever came to him in need. And now here he is, in need of us as we lower his battered body, and rest it in his anguished mother’s arms, for one last time before we lay it in the borrowed tomb. So that’s why I’m in this place where I really don’t want to be, God knows, I’m here for his mother, yet despite myself I’ve become part of it too. |
Acknowledgements
Some of the above have been published by the Iona Community Wild Goose publications who are happy for them to be used for non-commercial purposes with the acknowledgement (C) Carol Dixon Iona Wild Goose Publications – All heaven weeps [Candles & Conifers]; Sister of Mary [Spring] ; At the lakeside [Fire & Bread] all edited by Ruth Burgess.
Editor’s Note: This is part of a series. For parts 3&4, click here
I have also included two items written by friends of mine with their permission.
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I pray along the road of Via Dolorosa,
to experience the love that led you here.
I pray along the road
that brought you to the cross.
I pray among the silence
of no retaliation.
I listen for the answers that
never came,
and the lack of words that spoke
a greater word
all the same.
I pray beside the taunts and
jeers that lined
the road of each step you took.
I pray as I hear a man called
from out of the crowd
to carry this cross for you.
I pray to see the deeper meaning
of the road you traveled.
I pray to hear the hammering in
of nails and the rolling of the dice.
I pray to hear the gambling voices
and to see the sign above your
head, a crown of thorns.
I pray to hear the words
of men on either side, crucified.
I pray to see your eyes,
to see your eyes, and love
poured out from your side,
blood and water words,
Father forgive them, they know
not what they do.
I pray to know the power in
the blood you shed,
your sacrifice, your giving over,
your choice to humble so yourself
that stars bowed down and
the sky lost its way
as it plummeted down
on the final breath you breathed.
I pray to see beyond the
silence that then fell,
the chaos that ensued,
your Beloved ones
weeping with the grief
they never knew could be.
I pray to hear the shouts
from the soldiers looking
up aghast with revelation:
Surely, this man was the
Son of God.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I pray to see the morning
beyond this day, the fullness
of your grace,
your resurrected face
among the flowers and the dew.
Before returning to your Father,
appearing to your waiting friend,
there to pour out on you,
anointing oils for burial.
I pray to feel the surprise of that day,
as face to face, she mistook you
for a gardener.
I pray to once again be
astonished by the vanquishing
of sin, as the sun arose
differently from that day forevermore;
upon your resurrection.
I pray to hear the words
you spoke, on the light of the morning
to the friend who gasped with recognition,
receiving the first message
from the One who rose again,
I am ascending to my God and your God,
to my Father and your Father.
Photo by Jenneth Graser of a sculpture by Right Mukore of Right Sculptures, Montebello Design Centre, Newlands, Cape Town, taken with permission.
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