God Awakening

God Awakening

I will celebrate the victory of my God in silence, and in song. 

I will gaze upon the likeness

Of the one-who-was pierced.

I will touch the mystery

Of the dead-one-living.

I will trace his signature over my heart: North to South

East to West:

King of Kings Lord of Lords.

I will open my mouth to sing the serenade of the stars, 

The song of the angels before the throne of God.

I will shout into the sunrise, a canticle for my King: 

‘Rejoice! Rejoice!

The Lord is Risen -

Alleluia!’

I will bury myself in his joy, And, with laughter,

I will rise again.

The King Sleeps

The King Sleep

I will mine the agony of my God with a pick and a lamp. I will hew the stones and teach them to cry ‘Hosanna!’

I will fashion a tomb to bloom in a garden

I will fracture the face of Israel with a blow

That will become an earthquake 

To awaken the dead.

I will set my lamp beneath a splintered tree

I will close my ears against the forsaken cries of the Holy One 

I will seal my mouth against the acrid taste of blood

I will shut my eyes to hide the corpse that hangs above me. 

His eyes, not -closed. His body, not-clothed.

‘IT IS FINISHED!’

It’s over. 

God -

Adored, outpoured - passes over.

Numbed, beyond fear, I whisper a lullaby into the dark: 

‘Be still. Be still.

Night dawns.

Death dies -

The King sleeps.’

Holy Week

“ Let nothing disturb you...”

Today’s invitation to stillness is particularly challenging these days. How is it possible to be ‘undisturbed”  when death, quite literally, stalks the land, and I am locked away

inside my home to keep out of his way?

With my Catholic brothers and sisters all over the world,,  I enter the  sacred  Easter Triduum.

For three days, I will be in two places at once.

As the sun goes down, a candle will be set in my window, as a prayer for the people who are suffering right here and now - and for the many amazing people who are literally laying their lives on the line for me: health workers, public service workers, everyone who must carry on despite the danger.

First place, then,: United in prayer with the saints, living and dead, for the suffering world, suffering which Jesus takes physically into his body on the Cross. The Cross has always spoken to me in this way: as far as I cause suffering to others in this world, I bear responsibility for the Crucifixion. Christ hangs there dying. His message: “This is what sin does. Be free of it!” 

Second place: Here, now. Living my ordinary day in an extraordinary way. Quietly joyful, Quietly sorrowful - both are present, both are true.

Letting nothing disturb me is a devotion, learned surprisingly  perhaps, from Buddhists, who practice “equanimity’ as a step on the path to  enlightenment. Yes, it has to be practised. 

Be here now, for sure, but be too, in that extraordinary place between worlds:  join the eternal dance where suffering and death is overcome by resurrection and renewal. Always.

“Save us Saviour  of the world, for by your cross  and resurrection, you have set us free.’

https://youtu.be/fYrl60N0Qb8

 

The Chimney Sweep And The Pig

My church friends are circulating funny stories to keep us smiling. Here’s mine. A bit of ‘Matson Nostalgia’ 

                    ***********

Here’s my favourite story from growing up at Matson, a large Council  Estate under Robinswod Hill, in Gloucester. It’s at least 90% true!

Mr Green, the chimney sweep lived at No 1Beacon Rd , his work was seasonal, and on at least one occasion,  extraordinary measures had to be taken  to feed his family. 

My father was a Special Constable for many years, and this is the story of his encounter with Mr Green and Farmer Peacey’s pig. 

One day, probably in early Spring, when fires were still in the grates, the local Bobby on the Beat called for my dad on his way to Peacey’s farm, to investigate the theft of a pig.

It did not take the resources of the forensics department - were there such a body back in 1957 - to piece together the crime scene, and apprehend the perpetrator, because Mr Green had inadvertently left his spectacle  case, with his name and address neatly printed inside, on the spot formerly occupied by the pig. 

It was a short walk from the farm to No 1Beacon Rd, and as the two officers of the law approached the door of the house, it was evident from the dying screech of the victim, and the general uproar, that for Mr Green, the game was well and truly UP. 

The door was eventually opened by a very small Green, who like the rest of the crime scene, was liberally splattered with blood.

(A pig, my father discovered, does not shuffle off this mortal coil without putting up a fight. )

Before the hapless sweep could get himself any deeper into hot water, my father remarked,

“Stan, that ‘ould better be a pig lying on your kitchen table, or you’re in SERIOUS trouble.” 

! !

Stay safe, everyone! 

Mary