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Godspacelight
by dbarta
HWR7
EasterPoemspoetry

Holy Week and Easter Reflections, Part Three and Four

by Melissa Taft
written by Melissa Taft

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.

HRW8

The Garden 

‘Very early on Sunday morning, just after sunrise,’  [Mark 16: 2] 

He watched the trees wafting
in the early morning breeze
and thought of the other garden
where it had all started.

In some ways, the pain and
anguish of the rejection
and betrayal was more acute
than the physical agony
of the Cross.  He recalled
he had begun to suspect
all was not well but,
even to the end, he shook off
his uneasiness as he would
shake a dead fly from his arm.
And when at last the truth
became apparent, he felt
as though his heart was
being torn from his living body.

Even after he accepted the cup,
he felt excruciated
and sick inside and,
like sticking your nails
into your palms to relieve
a deeper, gnawing pain,
so the scourging
and its torturous aftermath
were almost a mitigation.
And when he cried to his Father
from the Cross, it was not
for his for his broken body
but to ease his aching heart.

Therefore, in this awakening garden,
he breathed the fresh auroral air;
the long, dark night was over:
it was a beautiful morning.

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]

HWR9

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 

HWR10Photo Fredrik Öhlander Unsplash

‘There stood Jesus on the beach; but the disciples did not know it was Jesus.’ [John 21: 4] 

Sitting on the shore
watching the boats,
he reflected on past
events.  He’d had a good
three years – the best
and, no matter what
the future held, nothing
could take that away
from him, or them.

He regarded them more
closely; hearing their
muted curses across the still
water he recognised how
frustrated they must be –
experienced fishermen
that they were – working
all night without success;
perhaps they wished they
were back to catching men!

He looked at the sea
again and saw the dark
shadow of a shoal on the
starboard side of the boat.
How simple and clear cut
everything was when viewed
from a distance, removed
from the involvement of it all.

To be able to look on
with detachment while still
caught up and caring
about the task in hand;
that was the answer –
the God’s-eye view.

‘Cast your nets on the
other side,’ he called
and stirred the fire
to cook the breakfast
they were bringing in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the lakeside

HWR11

It was the lad – John – who saw him first;
we were too busy hanging onto the bulging net to notice him,
and maybe just a bit resentful at a stranger on the shore
telling us our business.
‘It’s him’, he said. ‘Who?’ I asked, as I straightened up.
‘It’s the Lord, who else?’ he replied,
with a grin too wide for his face.
I shaded my eyes against the low dawn light and stared
and my heart leapt – and froze – within my chest.
I grabbed my garments and plunged over the side of the boat,
sinking to waist level in the waves as I had before
when he’d  called me to come to him across the water.
Struggling up the shingle I fell in a heap at his feet
and he grabbed my hands as he had the other time
and hauled me up till we were eye to eye.
The others arrived, bustling up the beach, bringing fish
to lay on the fire beside the little loaves already baking there.
‘Come and eat’ he said as he broke and shared the feast.

Afterwards when everyone was sated and settled
he looked at me across the fire.  ‘Walk with me’, he said
and we set off along the shoreline.
‘Simon, do you love me more than these?’ he asked,
indicating the others sprawled out on the sand.
‘Yes Lord,’ I answered automatically. ‘You know I love you.’
‘Feed my flock’, he said.
A little further on he asked again: ‘Simon do you love me?’
(Why does he call me Simon?  My name is Peter – the Rock
– the name he gave me himself.  Not much of a rock-man now,
haunted as I was by my denial and desertion,
as he went to his death).

‘Yes, Lord,’ I said again.  ‘You know I love you.’
‘Look after my lambs,’ he said.
And then, O agony, he asked a third time:
‘Simon, do you love me?’. 
He gazed into my tear-filled eyes, my tear-filled heart,
my tear-filled soul and we were back in the courtyard
beside another fire. ‘Lord, you know everything’ I cried.
‘You know I love you.’
‘Lead my sheep,’ he said, and smiled;
and the sun rose in the sky, and the sea shimmered,
and the world was wonderful.

I looked back and saw the lad was following.
‘What about him, Lord?’ I asked.
He turned, regarding John with that look of love
reserved for children and for all pure hearted ones.
‘Not your concern,’ he chided gently.
‘You, you follow me.’                                                                               

And I did, to the end….  So can you.  

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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April 13, 2022 0 comments
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HWR4
EasterHoly Weekpoetry

Holy Week and Easter Reflections, Part One & Two

by Melissa Taft
written by Melissa Taft

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.

HWR1

 

Foot-washing

HWR2

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

HWR3

It was a night like any other night –
a supper party, followed by chat and chinwag
slipping with easy familiarity into deeper things,
subjects closer to the heart.

In the candlelight, comfortable, replete,
a little muzzy from the wine,
listening to words which resonated within our souls
as if they were the words of God.

Yet on that night something was different.
It began with a shock to the system:
our teacher, our leader, our Lord
removing the trappings of authority,
nakedly kneeling in humble service at our feet.

Then, as the meal progressed, a moment of tension,
an exclamation of intense sorrow and pain,
uncertainty among us as to who the betrayer was.
We barely noticed when Judas left the room,
excused by Jesus as someone who didn’t
really want to belong there, and the party went on.

And party it was – with fun and laughter, 
conversation, and what really mattered – love.
And afterwards the moment that remains imprinted
in all our memories:  the breaking and sharing,
body and blood; and a new universe was born.

‘As I am broken for you – be broken for each other,
As my life is poured out for you – pour out yourselves
for one another; and every time you set aside your self
in this way, for friend and enemy alike,
the world will recognise me, God’s life within each one.’

And so the precious promise passed,
and we departed;  a garden beckoned
in the darkness, and the agonising
loneliness of a cross;  and in the morning
– joy, the joy of an empty tomb.

 

 

 

 

 

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:
https://godspacelight.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/All-Heaven-Weeps-Good-Friday.mp3
The Centurion

HWR5

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

HWR6

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

  • well, not in that sense of the word.

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. 


Blog Ads 400 x 400 20 Looking for a liturgy for Maundy Thursday? Download this free booklet produced by Saint Andrews Episcopal Church and made possible through Godspace by kind permission of Cherry Hairston.

April 12, 2022 0 comments
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IMG 20220309 081901
LentPoemspoetry

The Road of Via Dolorosa

by Melissa Taft
written by Melissa Taft

by Jenneth Graser

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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April 12, 2022 0 comments
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Meditation Monday

Meditation Monday – For the Joy Set Before Him Jesus Endured…

by Christine Sine
written by Christine Sine

by Christine Sine

For the joy set before him he endured the cross,(Heb 12:2)

Last week I talked about the tears of blood Jesus shed and the agony he endured, but this week “the joy that was set before him” has held my attention because the expectation of the healing and restoration that his sacrifice would bring to all humanity and in fact to the whole world is, I am sure, what held Jesus’ attention for a lot of that final week of his life.

For the joy that was set before him, Jesus paraded into Jerusalem on that fateful Palm Sunday, knowing that it would totally alienate him from the Roman rulers who were also coming to Jerusalem with all their pomp and ceremony to demonstrate their power and might at the upcoming Passover feast. I love to imagine this joyful parade, with kids dancing and singing and their parents waving palm fronds and shouting hosanna, probably dancing and singing too. I wonder if at times Jesus got down to dance with them. Certainly no pomp and ceremony but as one of the people.

This was a joyful celebration of hope and expectation, a glimpse of God’s eternal world of joy and wholeness that was to come. Yet for Jesus there must have been sadness as well. He knew how fickle these crowds were. He knew that in a few days they would reject and crucify him. Yet for the joy that was set before him he entered into their joy and endured what was to come.

For the joy that was set before him, Jesus goes to the temple, overturns the tables, and heals the sick, further alienating the Jewish leaders and priests. Here too we catch glimpses of the joy that was set before him as the children circle around singing and shouting “Hosanna to the King” (Matt. 21:14,15) I love that the children were filled with the joy of what Jesus was doing. I think that they were the only ones who really delighted in the wonder of what he was doing. It certainly seems as though they are the only ones shouting hosanna now. Where I wonder are the adults that a few hours ago were shouting with them?

Then for the joy that was set before him, Jesus celebrates what he knows will be his last Passover with his disciples, enduring what must have been a bitter-sweet celebration for him, knowing that in one of his companions was the seeds of betrayal. The joy of feasting with his friends must have been tinged with the knowledge of Judas’s treachery.

For the joy that was set before him, Jesus endured the agony of his prayers in the garden of Gethsemane. Theologian Willie James Jennings said “I look at joy as an act of resistance against despair and its forces.” I know he entered into the full extent of the sorrows of the world as he literally wept tears of blood. But I also think he spent time savoring the joy that was set before him as he remembered the glimpses of God’s joyful world he had experienced and brought into the lives of others through his healing, feeding and teaching. Part of his resistance to all the pain and suffering he would endure was his joy at the thought that through his suffering all pain, not only in his life but in the entire world was being vanquished by his sacrifice.

For the joy that was set before him, Jesus endured the cross. With Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion, there must have been a loss of joy, not just for him but for his followers too. Joy seemed to have gone out of all the world. Now there are no shouts of hosanna, not even from his disciples. This was a time for endurance and a willingness to accept the path laid out for him.

Then came Easter Sunday, the day of resurrection and the return of joy to the world. This was the birthing of the full joy that Jesus looked forward to. This was the joy of a new world healed and made whole through his suffering. Once again there are shouts of hosanna at least by his disciples. Hosannas that echo through the centuries as we now join in with their shouts of praise. I think of that as I remember the suffering of the Ukrainian people. They are enduring this horror because of their hope for a joy-filled future in which their country is liberated from the bondage of oppression and set free.

Cole Arthur Riley reminds us when the temple of God is rebuilt after being destroyed during the exile that the people celebrated with joy but the elders wept because of their memories of the original temple. “No one could distinguish the sound of the shouts of joy for the sound of weeping, because the people made so much noise. (Ezra 3:13, NIV)

As Cole Arthur Riley says “I have found no better portrait of joy. Sorrow and celebration all mixed together in a holy cacophony. A collective so loud that weeping and laughter are made one. A sound so loud that it is heard by others, even those far away.” (This Here Flesh, 169)

I can imagine that God’s eternal world is a little like that. The sorrow and celebration are mixed together to create a cacophony of sound. Jesus’ hands are still scarred as are all of us, but bubbling up inside is the exuberant joy of the seeds of a new world birthed.

Today I look out on our cherry tree, now in full bloom and I rejoice at the beauty of it, as I do at the beauty of all the glorious spring flowers around Seattle. This Easter season, this season of blossom and greening is one that is birthed out of the darkness of winter but it is only a beginning, just as Jesus’ resurrection was. Springtime offers us hope for a future abundant harvest. Similarly, Jesus’ fortitude offers the hope of a future of abundance of healing and justice and peace. The full joy that Jesus’ endurance gave birth to is yet to come. Hallelujah.


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April 11, 2022 0 comments
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Worship & liturgy

A Contemplative Service In The Spirit of Taize for April 10, 2022

by Christine Sine
written by Christine Sine

An beautiful contemplative service with music in the spirit of Taize for Palm Sunday.

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:

“Magnificat”, “Christe Lux Mundi (Christ You are Light)” Copyright and all rights reserved by GIA/Les Presses de Taizé

“Watching, Waiting, Hoping” Music and Lyrics by Kester Limner, shared under the Creative Commons License, Attribution (CC-BY)

“Be Thou My Vision” Traditional Irish hymn, public domain. Arrangement by Andrew Myers and Kester Limner, shared under the Creative Commons License, Attribution (CC-BY)

Thank you for praying with us! www.saintandrewsseattle.org

April 9, 2022 0 comments
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EasterLent

Palm Sunday 2022 – Joining In The Celebration of God

by Melissa Taft
written by Melissa Taft

by Jeannie Kendall

Perhaps unusually, when I think of Palm Sunday I remember two stories. One is a biblical one – Michal in 1 Samuel 6. Her husband, King David, is returning from a procession where the Ark, the symbol of God’s presence, is finally being returned, carried into the capital. He has danced, exuberantly, with joyous abandon, not a response of duty or kingly restraint, but of openness to God in the freest of worship. But Michal, who has watched the celebration from the isolation of a window, greets him with sarcastic ridicule. There is no celebration for her. Lest we are too quick to judge, hers is a tragic story where she has been the pawn, the victim, of political events in which her husband and father were enemies.

The second is a few years ago when a friend of mine was receiving a series of blessings from God in a season where she was experiencing the Holy Spirit in new ways. I felt on the outside, envious of the sense of closeness to God others seemed to find so easy. I had not meant to be scathing, but clearly something in my attitude reflected my feelings. A good friend, she told me that my stance was hurting her heart. I apologised, and the relationship remained strong, but I retained a sense of looking in from the outside, like the Match Girl glimpsing the beauties others experienced.

And so to Palm Sunday. Again there is a huge celebration as Jesus – the bodily presence of God – is carried into the city. But not everyone can join in. The Pharisees are disturbed, and ask him to rebuke the disciples. Jesus says if they are quiet, the stones will celebrate. Creation must recognise the arrival of the creator – if people don’t, the stones will!

Perhaps we are too harsh on the Pharisees. After all they refer to him as teacher, and they don’t ask him to stop the procession, just to quieten his disciples. Perhaps they were scared it would be deemed an uprising and bring down the wrath of the Romans. Certainly they were concerned to keep the tradition, the laws which they saw not as a means to win God’s approval but as a sign of his love and grace. Whatever the reasons, they cannot celebrate. They love God, want to serve him, but as Jesus is carried into Jerusalem they just can’t join in. And they want to stop the joyous celebration of others

Sometimes even for good people, joy can be elusive. This is a break-out moment. It does not take away from the sadness which will come. Indeed only a few moments later Jesus is racked with sobs over the city he loves which will reject him. Jesus knows this entry is provocative and what will ensue. But biblically celebration and sadness can sit side by side. For a moment we can let go our sadness to celebrate the exuberant goodness of God – his presence in our midst. All worship comes from joy, but a joy forged sometimes from the darkest of places. When there’s ‘pain in the offering’ – as we sometimes sing perhaps too lightly or with too little understanding – there is a profound depth in worship.

Joy perhaps needs to be distinguished from noise. It may include it at times – it clearly did on this occasion – but joy can break out in gentleness even in environments where we are quiet, or through the quietest of personalities. There are sadnesses that no work, no duty, no striving or attempt at denial can heal. But joy is still a possibility. It is a possibility because the king has come. The presence of God is here.

Imagine how different it could have been if Michal could for a moment laid aside the disappointments of her life and made her way down, hitched up her own skirts and danced. If the Pharisees could have left aside their worries about getting it right and joined hands with the children. If you or I could leave aside all the valid and huge concerns of our times and simply, for a moment, enjoy the presence of the King, our extraordinary Saviour.

It can be hard to really open ourselves up to the celebration, the joy of God. It may be personal circumstances, quiet hurts and pains, known or unknown to others. Communion is a good way to again recognise and receive the presence of God into our lives no matter what. Or perhaps we worry about our reputation, or that of the church, or about doing things right. Yet maybe God is calling us to joyous celebration. This is about the heart more than what we do. And certainly, let’s decide we are not going to criticise those who express their joy differently from us, with more or less exuberance. We can celebrate together as we enjoy our differences.

So today let’s open ourselves to the joy of God. He comes to us again: our King and our Saviour.


  1. https://www.thoughtco.com/little-matchstick-girl-short-story-739298
  2.  Matt Redman Blessed be your name 

Photo by Poppyette on Pixabay


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April 9, 2022 0 comments
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Holy WeekLent

FreerangeFriday: Entering slowly into Holy Week

by Lilly Lewin
written by Lilly Lewin

By Lilly Lewin

Holy Week is almost here.
And if you are in shock that the Calendar has sped through March and is already deep into April, you are not alone!
As one friend said … I can’t believe it’s Palm Sunday THIS Sunday! And as another friend said at the beginning  of Lent, “I’m not doing Lent this year, we’ve been living Lent for the past two years!” This is so true! The layers of Lent, the layers of trauma and exhaustion are many! Thanks pandemic, thanks politics, thanks 24/7 news! And it still grows for some of us daily. We really do need to baby step into Holy Week.

Originally Lent started now … living into the last week of the life of Jesus rather than a whole 40-day fasting experience.
Tradition says that Mary, Jesus’s mom was the first to walk the Way… what became the stations of the cross to remember the suffering of her son.
How can we remember and engage in the Story this week?
You might find some stations of the cross to pray with at your local Catholic Church.
Start with Palm Sunday…
Start by reading Luke 19:28-48

 After telling this story, Jesus went on toward Jerusalem, walking ahead of his disciples. 29 As he came to the towns of Bethphage and Bethany on the Mount of Olives, he sent two disciples ahead. 30 “Go into that village over there,” he told them. “As you enter it, you will see a young donkey tied there that no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. 31 If anyone asks, ‘Why are you untying that colt?’ just say, ‘The Lord needs it.’”

32 So they went and found the colt, just as Jesus had said. 33 And sure enough, as they were untying it, the owners asked them, “Why are you untying that colt?”

34 And the disciples simply replied, “The Lord needs it.” 35 So they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their garments over it for him to ride on.36 As he rode along, the crowds spread out their garments on the road ahead of him. 37 When he reached the place where the road started down the Mount of Olives, all of his followers began to shout and sing as they walked along, praising God for all the wonderful miracles they had seen.

38 “Blessings on the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in highest heaven!”

39 But some of the Pharisees among the crowd said, “Teacher, rebuke your followers for saying things like that!” 40 He replied, “If they kept quiet, the stones along the road would burst into cheers!”

41 But as he came closer to Jerusalem and saw the city ahead, he began to weep. 42 “How I wish today that you of all people would understand the way to peace. But now it is too late, and peace is hidden from your eyes. 43 Before long your enemies will build ramparts against your walls and encircle you and close in on you from every side.
44 They will crush you into the ground, and your children with you. Your enemies will not leave a single stone in place, because you did not

recognize it when God visited you.[b]”

45 Then Jesus entered the Temple and began to drive out the people selling animals for sacrifices. 46 He said to them, “The Scriptures declare, ‘My Temple will be a house of prayer,’ but you have turned it into a den of thieves.”47 After that, he taught daily in the Temple, but the leading priests, the teachers of religious law, and the other leaders of the people began planning how to kill him. 48 But they could think of nothing, because all the people hung on every word he said.

  • After listening/reading the gospel, picture the scene. Imagine the crowds. What do you see, smell, notice about the things happening around Jesus. How are you feeling? What do you notice? Take some time to consider this and talk to Jesus about how you are feeling. You might journal about this.
  • It’s Palm Sunday this Sunday at the start of year three of the Pandemic and as a war rages in Ukraine.  Are you cheering today or feeling more like jeering this Palm Sunday? No emotions are wrong. We are loved by Jesus just as we are. Talk to Jesus about where you are today.
  • “Hosanna,” an Aramaic word that means “O, save (bring the victory), Lord!” The crowds along the road were looking for salvation from the Empire of Rome. What “elements of empire” would you like to be saved from today? What areas of your life, or problems you see around you would you like to be delivered from today? Talk to Jesus about this.
  • How does it make you feel to know that Jesus weeps? He weeps for Jerusalem and for everyone who doesn’t recognize him and the peace He gives. Who in your life needs to know this peace? Pray for these people. Maybe it’s you today! ask Jesus to give you more of his peace and eyes to see Him at work.
  • What things are getting in the way of people experiencing God, the church, and prayer? What things need cleansing? What is blocking, or cluttering up your temple court today and separating you from God? Talk to Jesus about this and allow Him to cleanse you!

Notice where you are today.
Be compassionate and curious.
Know that however you are
Up or down
Confused or confident
Jesus sees you & loves you!

Jesus invites you to go slowly into Holy Week and experience his last week with him.
Coffee Cup Full

Holy Week with your Cup

Here are some ways to get you started:

You can experience the week with your coffee cup… (explanation here)
I created a way to pray through Holy Week with your Cup. Download the Link here.
PRAY Through the Week with Art:

Palm Sunday Slide Show of Art by James Tissot

Art and Theology 

ART in Holy Week

Asian and African Art for Holy Week

LISTEN AND WATCH: You might  also create your own Holy Week Play List

  • ACTION: Take a walk outside and imagine Jesus arriving in your city or neighborhood. Imagine the streets lined with people cheering. Imagine the city leaders or the leaders of churches getting upset. FIND A STONE/ROCK along your walk to use as a daily reminder to praise Jesus and to remind you to pray for your city & neighborhood.
    Holy Week Centerpiece1

    Holy Week Centerpiece

  • CREATE A CENTERPIECE to use throughout the week with your family, friends or on your own learn how in this post with a PDF to print out.
    We are invited to walk with Jesus in his last week of life…take a walk and be with Jesus outside…what do you notice? Watch for signs of life. Breathe. Notice the clouds, the sunshine, or stars. Listen to the wind, the birds, even the traffic.
    Jesus is with us in all the mess of our lives. In the Message Bible, Eugene Peterson starts the passage before the Palm Sunday/Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem in Luke 19:28 with the heading “God’s Personal Visit.” Jesus came to Earth as one of us, TO each of us and FOR each of us. I am grateful that Jesus knows our pain and weeps with us. I am grateful that Jesus understands our suffering and  longs for each of us to know his love and peace.

    Jesus, We enter the week slowly with you. Help us to walk with you daily. AMEN

©lillylewin and freerangeworship.com


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April 8, 2022 0 comments
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