Author: mrgsponderings

Into your hands

My friend Joyce has sent me her latest Photo Tweet.

The little bird may seem to be a far cry from the Crucifixion of Jesus but the photo expresses something fundamental about God’s message to us on Good Friday.This little bird exudes Trust in God.
There is a certain still confidence that she is being held in the love of God, who silently but surely is holding her in the cleft of the wood—in the cleft of God’s love, which is the at the heart of wood of the
Cross
She is held securely by God. And so are we.

A prayer poem by Ladislaus Boros, reflecting on the Crucifixion of Jesus, tells us
why we can be certain of God’s deep love from us.

Crucified

“Behold the wood of the cross on which hung the Saviour of the world:
come, let us adore him.”

This is what the Church sings during the Good Friday liturgy.

Before the mystery of his death on the cross,
we must fall silent.
Only adoration remains.
This fundamental letting go,
self-abandonment,
in the presence of God
is already adoration.

Not simply deep adoration
but the deepest possible.

Such adoration is like
pure light, clean air.
Through it breathes
unshakeable trust.

It comes from the conviction
that despite all difficulties
we are held in the hands of God.
As Jesus said in his last moments:
‘Father, into thy hands,
I commend my sprit.

(Ladislaus Boros; Breaking through to God)

It is easy to believe that from its position of trust, our little bird is adoring God who loves
her. Jesus on the Cross tells us the same. Come, let us adore Him.

[Mr G]

Gethsemane

‘Keep watch’, he says,
but weighted lids pull me down
into the dark, deaf waters of sleep
and I drift – yielding consciousness…
Then strain to resurface again
to what’s unfolding.

He kneels, a stone’s-throw close,
his pleading just perceptible.
Yet he is far-off:
unreachable in his anguish.

As I sink back into the swaddle of sleep
I sense betrayal close.
Then voices and torchlight
yank me to the surface –
suddenly alert.

Now, he is calm –
resolved:
a still centre
in the uproar.

Fear’s chill seeps into me –
for he foretold denial:
will I have the courage to stay true?

Piers Northam
Holy Thursday 2022

Gethsemane Moon

Gethsemane Moon

I lit you,
bloodied and wet, the Virgin’s arms
shaping your first cradle

I lit you
as, late evening, the chisels
work you strove to perfect

I lit you,
clear nights lakeside,
bringing vocation to hairy fish men

I lit you,
days end, crowd-pressed,
healing-weary, and word spent

I lit you,
late nights hillside,
your Father’s love, your bed

I lit you,
early on that palm-strewn path
destined for faux glory

I light you
now, here, through olive shade,
cool light mirrored blue on beaded brow,
shadowed terror,
and gold glimpses of angels’ arms
shaping your last cradle.

Julia Sheffield
Maundy Thursday 2022

Hope rises from the ashes

The old earthquake damaged Cathedral at Christchurch, New Zealand
and below The vista looking east, of the temporary cardboard Cathedral [G H]

Thoughts in Holy Week
from the Revd Dr Gill Henwood

My phone chose a Christchurch photo this morning for me. Herewith the damaged cathedral (Photo taken 2020) and the temporary one made with cardboard roof struts I believe.

The white chairs installation (see below) is for the 185 who died in the earthquake- all different chairs, all unique people. Freshly repainted and evocative, in the cleared wasteland around the temporary cathedral.

Loss, hope, death, resurrection, darkness, bright sunlight and blue sky. Juxtaposed. Past. And now….

Nearby was a war memorial for NZ troops in the world wars. Next to it was a smaller memorial for people lost in 1919 by the Spanish Flu epi/pandemic.
Today, all these losses resonate in Europe and also globally, keenly, acutely, in the present.

As we approach Jerusalem in Holy Week once more, may God give strength to all who are suffering and bereaved in our world now – through natural disasters, war and pandemic – to endure and trust that in Love there is a better way. We are ‘keening’ (mourning and lamenting) worldwide, drawn into the reality of suffering and death in the timeless journey of Holy Week.

May each one – in time, with others, together – find hope and, as the Light of Christ comes in the darkness of Easter Eve. May each glimpse even the possibility of solace and, one day, the renewing recreating joy of resurrection.

Gill Henwood