Tag Archives: Jesus

April 13: Feeling the Fire: I

We don’t follow many blogs, but Ignatius’s As a Little Child is one I am always glad to see and occasionally reply to. He put this out a few weeks ago, and has graciously allowed me to use it – and my reply – here. Over to Ignatius; a response tomorrow.

Can I honestly say, that when I look at myself or at my Church, locally or universally, that I recognise followers of Jesus, the Body of Christ, or the Kingdom of Heaven?

‘I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!’ [Lk12:49]

Where is this fire?!

I don’t see it in my life. And I rarely hear it in homilies. And I hardly see it in the Church. I start to wonder if we’ve forgotten Jesus.

There are saints amongst us, though. There are holy bishops and priests and religious and lay people, living the gospel. There are orders, and movements and organisations and just people. There are many people out there who sacrifice themselves with Jesus, living the reckless, radical love of the Father.

I just wish it were the rule. I wish that I heard this fire in every homily, and saw it in every Church activity. I wish that we were obviously so much more than a club, or an NGO. I wish that this fire was burning in all my flesh, down to the marrow. But I’ve read that all that’s needed to become a saint, is to will it. God wills it already; we just need to co-operate, accept His grace, obey His gospel.

And the truth is, there’s no real life apart from Jesus’ life. It’s a choice between life and — far worse than death– not-life. I could perhaps call it half-life, but I think not-life better captures the emptiness I’m thinking of. Or being “lukewarm”. 

 

I hope I’m not alone in feeling this way. Please pray with me, that we will together be set on Jesus-fire.

 

 

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4 April: The Passover Sequence, I. Yesterday.

 

barredwindow strasbg (800x496)

Yesterday we walked with him,

talked with him.

Tho’ he was quiet,

Wanting us there.

So much to tell us,

So much we could not understand.

Yesterday ….

He spoke often of his Father.

How could we know?

fishermen –

Caught within the rapture of their presence.

Unable to comprehend,

Held by the comfort of their closeness.

For it was, it was, … closeness.

More than himself,

A Son,

Submissive, obedient.

But what love, what love!

It touched us all,

Caught up,

Tax-collectors –

He told us that he would die,

Leave us

When all within was caught in that love.

What could we do?

Yesterday

We ate with him.

Oh! He wanted that!

We wanted that!

“… with desire…”

He spoke of his Father

Intimate …

With us, wondering men,

Not knowing how we should respond.

Embraced in such love.

I mean, people do not love like that,

Do they?

Such foreboding

As if this was the last time.

And it was.

He told us

But we didn’t understand.

So we walked in the quietness of the evening,

Walked with him …

what words can tell you?

If there were tears they did not flow,

Instead we, all of us,

Bore the weight of his leaving.

We came to the garden, deserted,

Full of dark shadows,

The lingering scent of thesun-filled day.

He went on alone to speak with his Father.

We were left,

Working men,

Fishermen,

Chosen by the Son of God,

His brothers,

Each weighed down by his own self’s grief.

We slept.

He came back to us and found us sleeping,

Such gentle reproach …

Could you not …

Even one hour … ?’

And once again

Our hearts’ heaviness

Forbade his comfort.

His friends!

One of the others said later,

An angel had come to him.

I did not see.

I was asleep.

Ashamed.

But when he stood

Facing the mob in their torchlight

His features were beaded with blood.

We could have fallen back into the shadows,

And we did,

We could have run,

And we did.

We could leave him

And we did.

But that Love!

Who are you?

Who are we?

So we fell back into the shadows.

And he went on, alone,

With the mob.

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April 3: Easter Tuesday.

dew.grass.png

 

 

the storm shrieked

rushed at everything

tossed and roared

when he rose

like some

possessed

maniac

Now

he stands with

grave authority

quietly speaks

between

sun-streaks

and blades

of grass

SJC

 

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1 April: Did it Rain that Morning ?

dew.grass

Did it Rain that Morning ?

How did the sun rise that morning?

Did it roar into the sky?

Did it dance, throwing its flames across the void?

Did it rain?

Surely it rained?

A penetrating April deluge,

Short, sweet, cleansing.

Penetrating like grief,

Like relief.

Did the wind blow?

With no-one to feel it lift the dirt, the dust,

Sweep clean,

Prepare the way.

The sun at darkness’ end.

The lightning, thunder.

Fit entrance to a forgiven world.

Fit entrance for a Prince, a Lord.

Did the birds and the creatures rejoice together?

The flowers tremble,

Their perfume astonish?

Till all ablaze,

You stepped forth

Accompanied by Angels,

And went your way, about your world.

Until the women came,

Looking,

Peering,

Anxious,

Worried.

All was calm again by then,

Nothing untoward,

Except that you had gone to Galilee

And left a message with an Angel.

 

easter.tomb.CTcath.18.jpg

SPB

Sister Johanna insisted, underlined and insisted, that we should publish this today. Of course she was right. Thanks, Mum! Maurice. (And it was raining on Wednesday in Holy Week at Canterbury Cathedral.)

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1 April: Stations of the Cross XV: Jesus is Risen!

st maurice.door.resurl

FIFTEENTH STATION
THE RESURRECTION

The story is told by Peter, James and John, the disciples chosen to be present at Jesus’ transfiguration.
That story is told by  Matthew, 17, 1-13


Peter :
We know Jesus. We saw him in glory, all clothed in white.

James :
The voice from Heaven said, This is my Son, listen to him.

John :
He told us he would suffer but would rise from the dead.

Peter :
When he was arrested I ran away.

James :
When he was dying I stood far off.

John :
When he rose from the dead he came to find us.



Prayer :
Lord, may we be ready when you come to find us: in our daily lives,
in your Word, and at the hour of our death.

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

Doorway at St Maurice Abbey, Switzerland. Do I turn my back on the Good News? Am I ready to put on my helmet and ride off to proclaim the good news? Or to live it, even in the military, as Maurice and his companions did, and so were killed when they disobeyed, faced with immoral orders.

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31 March: Stations of the Cross, XIV,

cross.cave1

FOURTEENTH STATION
JESUS IS BURIED

The boy who ran away from the guards is often said to have been St Mark, as he alone tells this story. Mark 14:51-52.


I know this man. Last night I left my linen cloth behind in their hands.
I thought they would arrest me too. I ran home, out of their power, naked, cold, but alive.

Now I see Jesus, out of their power, but naked, cold, dead.
Joseph wraps him in a linen cloth and lays him in a tomb.


Prayer :

Lord, even you needed someone to care for you, to dress you when you were small, and again now.

Help us to be grateful for every little service done to us, for what is done to us is done to you.

Lord in your mercy

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30 March: Stations of the Cross XIII:

THIRTEENTH STATION
JESUS’ BODY IS TAKEN DOWN FOR BURIAL

Our witness is the widow of Naim. Jesus restored her son to life when he met the funeral on the way to the cemetery.
The story is told by Saint Luke,  in chapter 7, vv 11-16.


I know this man. My only son was dead. We took him out of town to say goodbye.

Jesus gave him back to me alive. Now Mary’s only son has been taken out of town and is dead.


Prayer :

God our Father, your son was taken out of town, out of sight, to be killed.

We try to hide away our sins, but we need to bring them to you and say we are sorry.

Jesus was lifted up; may we be drawn to him and follow him, even when no-one seems to see our witness to him.

Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.

Lifted up, unless a grain of wheat shall fall … , Greyfriars’ chapel, Canterbury.

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29 March, Stations of the Cross XII: Jesus Dies.

winchester crucifix

TWELTH STATION
JESUS DIES

Dismas is the name by which  we know the repentant thief who was crucified with Jesus. He saw Jesus die and spoke to him at the last. There are many references to Jesus eating with sinners, including the call of Matthew. But read Luke 15, 1-7 which leads to the parable of the lost sheep. Saint Luke also tells of Dismas in 23:42.


I know this man. I met him before : you must have heard how he ate and drank with sinners. I was there, of course. I invited him.

That was when I began to forgive myself. He forgave me. He did not turn away. He will not turn away now.

Jesus, remember me, when you come into your Kingdom!


Let us kneel and pray in silence.

And sing : Jesus, remember me, when you come into your Kingdom.

Crucifixion in Winchester Cathedral.

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29 March: Maundy Thursday

last supper.png

The Maundy Thursday stripping of the church:
a haunting sign of all that has been lost,
what chill descends, what void, what restless search,
to grasp what sin has wrecked, what grace has cost.

My God, no less a personage than he –
our Lord himself, Jesus, Beloved One –
was murdered not by their iniquity:
I am the murderer of God’s own Son.

So I am haunted on this night by sorrow
inside a church that ritual denudes.
I mourn tonight God’s death upon the morrow,
yet still, the meaning flies, full truth eludes.

My mind is darkened still by Satan’s lies.
But three nights hence I know: my God will rise.

SJC

[Painting of The Last Supper, by Bouveret, 19th century]

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28 March, Stations of the Cross XI: Jesus Speaks to his Mother

 

beholdthymother.small,rye

ELEVENTH STATION
JESUS SPEAKS TO HIS MOTHER

Usually the meeting between Jesus and Mary his mother takes place earlier on the Way of the Cross, but Saint John (19:25-27) tells us that Mary was right there beside jesus when he died, and John also tells us his last words to her; and to the beloved disciple, there beside her. Of course long tradition has it that John himself was the beloved disciple.

Mary Magdalene, who was there also, helps set the scene at the foot of the Cross, the Tree of Life. (Window from the parish church of Saint Mary, Rye.)


Mary Magdalene
I know this woman and I love her because I know and love her Son.

John
Jesus said to his mother, ‘Woman, this is your son.’ Then to the disciple he said, ‘This is your mother.’

Mary Magdalene
I’ve seen her, always faithful, always at hand, even when she did not understand. The best I can do — for all I love him — is to be here. This is my mother too.


Prayer :

Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus, though your heart is broken, pierced by a sword of sorrow, help us to believe that your Son’s work is complete, and we need never fear anything, for he is with us in our pain.

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