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.
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.