[photo from Gill Henwood – of the area near the Black Mountains, Bhutan]
Jesus prays in Gethsemane
On the night of his betrayal, Jesus took his disciples to the Garden of Gethsemane, near the Mount of Olives. He asked them to pray for themselves and then went to a place by himself. He prayed to his Father that he might be released from the trial and crucifixion ahead of him. But he also prayed that his Father’s will should prevail. The humanity of Jesus cried out and his anguish caused his sweat to fall like drops of blood. An angel from heaven came to strengthen him. His disciples were fast asleep. Then the Roman soldiers came to the garden to arrest him…. (St Luke’s Gospel Chapter 22: 39-53)
Gethsemane
This is his Passion. Darkness wraps around his very being, not a warming cloak but a shroud. Silence, punctured by friends snoring off the wellbeing of food, minds sloshed with wine. Alone with the shivers of the night, everything in him protests.
Sometimes, when we know our destiny, our minds close. Not this! No! Never! But our hearts are our undoing: our resolve begins; ends there. So he battles with his need to say ‘Yes’, for himself, for others, for us. How else can the world know what it is to be loved?
Kneeling on the damp ground, tense, numb, scared, uncertain, he waits. And the Father waits too as demons and angels whirl, stirring up the black air, a vortex of cosmic battle. Below them, sweat drops as blood. And still the Father waits, listening expectantly, daring to hope…
God wrestling desperately with God with everything – just everything – at stake. This really is the Passion. He sighs, deeply, calm descends. “Yes, let it be.”
The Father wraps his love around him – and so too around us.
Four years ago, my friend Joyce wrote a little story about the Palm Sunday Donkey. It was specifically for the children of Ninefields Church of England School, near Waltham Abbey in Essex. Each child got a printed copy as a gift from Joyce. One or two others of us also got one. With Joyce’s permission, I was able to Blog it as an entry for March 28th 2021. Sadly since then Joyce died unexpectedly and though some will have read the story, it’s worth repeating as I pause in prayer and remember a delightful person who understood more than most, what it means to be child-like.
[Mr G # Palm Sunday 2025]
It promised to be a hot and sunny day as the early morning sunlight played on the little donkey’s face. Benji lazily opened first one eye and then the other, but although the sunshine was warm on his face, he shivered a little and huddled closer to his mother. It was, after all, only yesterday that he had seen the old donkey who lived along the road being cruelly beaten by his master. Benji’s mother gently nuzzled her son’s face and slowly licked one long ear followed by the other. Then, at the sound of their master’s voice, they trotted over to the edge of their field and had a long drink from the bucket of water he had brought for them, before turning to munch the hay which was piled up in the corner.
Even though their master was a kind man, Benji was still very frightened of the world outside his field and the scar on his mother’s back would always remind him of how cruel some people could be even to a donkey who had done nothing wrong. Sometimes, as Benji watched his mother carrying a person down the hill to the big city of Jerusalem, he could almost feel the pain of her scar and he longed to do something to help her. But the trouble was, whenever anybody asked for a ride on Benji, he was so frightened that he would begin to shake all over and no one wanted to ride him when he was like that. And so, in his short life, nobody had ever ridden on Benji’s back. But perhaps, just perhaps, today would be different……….
When Benji and his mother had finished eating, their master returned and, as he gently tickled their ears, he began to speak softly to them:
‘There will be lots of people going down to Jerusalem today to celebrate the Feast of the Passover’ he said ‘and I think that someone will need you to carry him today, Benji, so I’m going to get you both ready and I want you to stand quietly for me by the house.’
Then, using a long length of rope so that the donkeys could still graze from the grass, their master tied them to the trunk of a tree and they began to wait to see who might come by. They hadn’t been waiting long, however, when two men hurried towards the donkeys and, turning to their owner they said:
‘The Lord needs them’‘ That’s just fine’ said their master and as he untied Benji and his mother he whispered in their ears, ‘today will be your special day.’
The two men led the donkeys to the end of a dusty path and as they stood there, waiting, Benji turned his head and from where he was standing he could see right to the bottom of the big hill and all of the city of Jerusalem surrounded by big stone walls and lots of people, who looked as small as ants, hurrying around. Just then Benji’s gaze was arrested by a pile of rubbish outside the walls of the city and he began to tremble. He had often seen donkeys carrying rotting rubbish down to the tip and, sometimes, his mother told him, bad people were hung on crosses and killed there. At that thought, Benji shook even more, but just as he was beginning to feel so weak that he thought he would fall over, he felt a hand on his head and a gentle voice saying:
‘Not today, little donkey, not today; the rubbish tip’s not for today. Don’t be afraid little donkey, today I want you to carry me.’
Benji turned his head and found himself looking into the most understanding man’s face he had ever seen and suddenly his shaking stopped and he felt strangely calm. Yes, he would be able to carry this man because he knew he understood and he gently nuzzled Jesus’ hand. While his friends put their coats on Benji’s back, Jesus gently patted the scar on the older donkey’s back and this time she didn’t wince as she normally did, but she too, gently rubbed her head against him.
When they were ready, Jesus climbed on Benji’s back and began to ride down the hill towards Jerusalem. To his surprise, with this man on his back, Benji suddenly felt quite strong and sure of himself. Somehow, being with Jesus, had taken away his scary feelings and now he really did feel that he could carry him all the way to Jerusalem. And Benji’s mother was just a few paces behind trotting along quite contentedly. They hadn’t gone very far, however, when people started to come to the edge of the road and they began to cheer and wave palm branches as Jesus rode by on the little donkey. People even spread their cloaks and more palm branches on the ground so that Benji had a very soft road to walk on. People then began to shout:
‘Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord Hosanna in the highest’
‘Yes, Jesus must be very special’ thought Benji, ‘ but I could have told all these people that from the moment he first spoke to me.’ And as he continued to trot down the road he, too, felt special and so happy.
But as we know, donkeys are very sensitive and after a little while, amidst all the cheering, Benji’s long ears began to pick up some whispers from people at the back of the crowd, people who said they didn’t like Jesus and even that they wanted to kill him. When he heard this, Benji began to shake again, but the man on his back gently patted him and said again; ‘Not today little donkey, not today.’ So, reassured once more, Benji trotted on right through a gate in the wall and into the city of Jerusalem, right up to the temple.
When they arrived there, Jesus jumped off Benji’s back, ‘ thank you, little donkey’ he said, ‘now you go back home with your mother and rest – well done little donkey, well done.’ Benji was so happy, he didn’t want to leave, but after rubbing Jesus’ arm with his muzzle one more, he turned and trotted back up the hill with his mother.
When he got home, he turned his head and looked at the city of Jerusalem once more and he wondered what Jesus was doing now. Then, as his gaze again took in the rubbish tip, a big tear rolled down his face and he heard that gentle voice saying ‘not today, not today, little donkey’ and he wondered what tomorrow might bring……
On March 19th, the Church remembered St. Joseph, husband to the Blessed Virgin Mary. Though often rather like the ‘man in background’, Joseph played a vital and significant role in the birth of Jesus and did so in obedience to the will of God. God communicated that will through the message of an angel and did so on 4 occasions. These dreams are all narrated by the writer of St. Matthew’s Gospel. (Chapter 1 verse 18ff, and Chapter 2) In the first dream the angel assures Joseph that, despite his misgivings, it is God who has chosen him to be Mary’s husband and watch over her as she is pregnant with the son of God, Jesus. He is to be the protector, guide and provider of love and security to the Holy Family, to Jesus in his infancy.
The other dreams are instructions from God. In the 2nd dream, Joseph is warned to flee with Mary and Jesus when King Herod ordered the massacre of the innocent babies and young children in order to do away with the one who might be a threat to Herod’s kingdom. Joseph flees to Egypt. The third dream tells Joseph that Herod’s death means it is safe to return home but the 4th dream tells Joseph that there is still some possibility of harm so Joseph must avoid Judea and settle instead in Galilee.
Taking the theme of the first dream, a friend wrote a poem which she gave to me as a special gift. I have her permission to make it known to others, so here it is.
Joseph’s Carol ~ An Angel called my name
Blessed am I, blessed of all men. When dark had quenched the light of day A holy angel came; an angel called my name I am not good, not free from sin, Yet, as I slept and dreaming lay An angel called my name.
A simple artisan, someone Of humble birth, thinks not to see A holy angel bright. An angel came that night Through cool moonlight to sleeping world, From cloud-streaked sky to speak to me, An angel came that night.
Though humble, yet I count as one Whose lineage of David came. The angel seemed so near: the angel voice was clear: “And Mary shall bring forth a Son. God wills that Jesus be his name” The angel voice was clear.
And when that Holy Child was born, In Bethlehem, of David’s line, The angels came to see. The angel melody the dark sky filled. So from that dawn I played my part in God’s design. Oh God. My thanks to Thee.
Hawkshead Church in early morning mist. Photo by Gill Henwood.
This photo was taken by my friend, Gill Henwood and is of Hawkshead Church emerging from the morning mist. This mist speaks to me of ‘revealing’, of something that will become clearer as the mist rises; of a beauty present but not yet fully defined.
Today is the time the Christian Church remembers the Conversion of St. Paul, the moment when all that clouded his mind and darkened his thoughts, were lifted by an encounter with the Risen Christ. We are told of it in the Book of Acts, chapter 9 verses 1 to 19.
Paul or as he was then known, Saul, a zealous Jewish Rabbi, had made it his mission to persecute Christians, those Jews who had chosen to follow the teaching of the Apostles about Jesus. He was responsible for the death and imprisonment of many and was thus thwarting the work of proclaiming the Good News of Jesus.
Something had to be done to stop him and it was the Risen Christ who did so. As Paul travelled along the road to Damascus, the Risen Christ appeared and light flashed around him. Paul was blinded by the light and fell to the ground. It was as if a dark mist enveloped him and in the darkness Jesus challenged him, Why are you persecuting me?’ Paul asked who he was and the revelation came to him that it was Jesus. Paul’s heart was converted but though his eyes were opened, he could still not see. First, his spiritual blindness had to be lifted; something Jesus arranged and then Paul became the great champion of Christianity he was destined by God to be.
For me there is something autobiographical in Paul’s famous passage in his first letter to the Corinthians, chapter 13. Having written his classic definition of ‘love’, He made the point that only love will carry us through to the heart of God and that is both our faith and hope. He referred back to his own lack of understanding of the power of God’s love (verse 8 following) and reminds us that on our spiritual journey we move, often haltingly, to a deeper knowledge of love, as God shares His divine love with us. At first our perception of God’s love is as if we are looking through a mirror dimly’ or as the King James Version puts it, through a glass darkly, but then, as God continues to reveal his Love to us, we shall one day meet Him as Love face to face.
Gill’s photograph of Hawkshead Church suggests to me another illustration of this. Our experience of God’s love for us, may seem at times to be as if we are looking through the mist of understanding. It contains all that will be revealed but we must let God work in our souls as he did in Paul’s. Then, slowly but surely, the mist will lift and the glorious vision will open our eyes and our hearts to a deep and abiding love. In the photo we already see the promise coming clearer. The scene contains all that needs to be revealed. So that is for us. If we open ourselves to the possibility of God lifting from us all that prevents His love to flourish, then it will become a reality.
The Conversion of Saint Paul
Brooding mist blurs edges of perception. Colours muted. A whisper of wind kisses the air rippling through the soul. Visibility impaired, a cloak of quietness drawn across the mind. Stilling all movement. Intentions passionately held, melt into deep darkness. Yet this is not the cause of fearfulness nor of despair. Out of the shadows, of seeing “through a glass darkly” there is a pinprick of growing light which slowly, perceptively, burns away the haze as new vision takes shape.
A Voice, crisp, gently directive, unfettered by illusion, beckons, touching eyes to see a wonder, “face to face.” The waypath is irrevocably changed.
