Holy Saturday

Yesterday,

we still heard 

his voice,

agonizing as it 

might have sounded.

“Father, forgive them…

Today, you will be with me…

Dear woman, your son…

My God, my God …

I am thirsty …

It is finished …

Father, into your hands…”

Still, we heard his voice.

Yesterday,

we wondered

why, oh why

is this day called

Good Friday.’

In disguise,

GRACE poured out

from nail-pierced

hands and feet,

from a sword’s wound,

from thorns pressed 

into flesh.

Yet, still, we heard his voice.

Today, 

scattered as we are,

we wait

in deafening silence.

At best, we cry

“How long, O LORD,

will you hide yourself 

forever?”

HOPE is now 

carefully wrapped

in linens and

sealed in a tomb.

“How long, O LORD,

will you hide yourself 

forever?”

In stillness,

earth awaits

the resurrection.

Yet, today, there is no voice.

Good Friday

“There will be clouds on this day …

maybe even rain or a storm,

if only for a brief moment.”

There was a heaviness

in her forecasting

as if she knew something

that I didn't know. 

She would solemnly say,

"It is God's reminder."

My mother left it at that.

She left me moving about

through the Good Fridays

of my childhood

with a heaviness on my heart

that I couldn't explain away.

She left me to dwell

in these Good Fridays alone,

looking to the skies

for the ominous clouds 

to move into my life,

“if only for a brief moment”, 

so that I wouldn’t

jump directly into my Easters.

Good Fridays are just that …

We are left to look up

at a cross and into the eyes

of the Crucified Christ.

We are left to stand

at the foot of the cross

(or run from it)

and, if we choose to stay,

we are left to hear 

Jesus' last words …

"Father, into Thy hands

I commend my spirit.”

We are left to hear

the deafening silence

of Jesus’ death.

The day ends with 

the darkness 

of a crucifixion

and before

we hear words

that we need to hear

from God.

Today is Good Friday and Jesus is crucified.

THE END ... or is it?

anna murdock

3-25-16

Maundy/Holy Thursday

(As I think of this night so long ago, the night we now call Holy/Maundy Thursday, I realize that Jesus not only washed the feet of the one who would betray him, but he prepared a place at the table for him as well. It is the same today. He still prepares the table for all… even for me.  “Do this in remembrance of me”, he said. So, as gathered Christians, we remember Jesus’ great, unimaginable love and presence and the way of the cross. We actively participate in being the hands and feet of Christ as we wait for his return.  And we are reminded that God’s grace and mercy is for everyone for we all fall short of being who we are called to be.  Do this in remembrance.  "The blood of Christ, poured out for you ... the body of Christ, given for you.")

“Do This In Remembrance ….”     (Holy Thursday)

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies.

It was when you asked me to help,

O God, that I truly understood ...

or at least understood

in the way that you asked me

to understand.

You handed a chalice to me

from the table you prepared

and whispered, "For all."

I gulped.  "Oh God... really?

For all?"

You whispered again,

"Look into their eyes,

offer to them what I have prepared,

Some might be your enemies,

but none are mine."

And so I stood,

at the end of an aisle,

with chalice in hand

and wept at the thoughts

of my enemies welcomed

to the table

that was prepared for me

in such a generous way.

The table was not mine;

the guest list was not mine;

the chalice never ran dry ...

nor did the grace and mercy.

Once again, I heard,

"Do this in remembrance ...

and remember,

these are not my enemies."

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies,

and then you say, "All sit ... together."

And still the chalice never runs dry

for those around the table -

not even for me.

Wednesday of Holy Week

"Who do you say that I am?"

The question is clear ....

the disciples have seen

and heard

and walked with this man

and yet one among them

wants a messiah

of his own desires,

not the Messiah

who entered into lives

with teachings of justice

and healings of spirit and body 

and commandments to love ...

not the One who resolutely

walked toward Jerusalem

with dust-covered sandals

and approached the city,

riding on a donkey.

"How many coins? Thirty?"

There are plans and preparations today ...

A room is being prepared.

Coins are being counted.

Crosses are visible 

on the horizon

of the week.

"What is happening on this day?

What should we make of it all?”

Tuesday of Holy Week

Disciples and friends gathered with Jesus at the home of Lazarus, Martha, and Mary. Suddenly “the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.” There she was. Mary in worship. Pouring her most costly possession on the feet of her Lord. Anointing his feet with nard. Wiping his feet with her loosened hair. This was an extravagant outpouring of love and spontaneous worship that could wait no longer. It didn’t seem to matter what was said as Judas objected. Mary, above all others in the room, knew that Jesus was her Lord and Savior. She had once intently listened to his words at Martha’s objections. Jesus wept with her at the tomb of her brother. He then raised Lazarus from the dead. While the others failed to listen carefully as they walked with Jesus, while the others argued among themselves, while the others slept, Mary sat at his feet and listened. She witnessed God’s power. She experienced God’s love. She knew the One who sat at her table was truly the Messiah.

Down came her hair. Out came her most priceless possession. It could not wait. The perfume of adoration, love, worship, praise and offering filled the room and ultimately the world. That’s what extravagant worship is like…spontaneous, overflowing, priceless and permeating.

Yet, inside of the house as well, we find Judas, already being 'Judas' ... objecting to such a costly act of worship. ("Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.” He [Judas] did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.)

Outside the walls of Lazarus’ house, rumblings of fear and hatred could be heard as thunder in the distance.

And so, we walk into this Tuesday of Holy Week with the fragrance of worship, the greed of Judas, and the growing anger, fears, and plotting of the chief priests.

Monday of Holy Week

Sigh … my worship bulletin and the palm fronds tossed on the floor seem much like the day of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. Palm branches had been torn from trees and waved high in the air as Jesus rode through the streets of Jerusalem on a lumbering donkey. Hosannas were shouted. And yet, the hosannas soon stopped. The palm branches were tossed aside. Hopes were trampled by shouts, whispers, and accusations.

As I glance at the bulletin and my own palm branches, I am reminded that during this week we have a choice. Some of us choose to shout our hosannas for a moment on Palm Sunday only to drop our palm branches on the floor when the hour of worship is over, leaving the scriptures and ponderings of what is to come during this Holy Week behind in the pews…tossed on the floor … left in the sanctuary … out of our thoughts as we walk away until Easter morning. Others continue to journey with our LORD during these days … leaving nothing behind … making a cross from both our palms and our prayers for us to carry with us during this most holy of weeks.

“O God, let there be nothing left behind or tossed away by me in these coming days. AMEN.”

"Enough ... For Today"

The child who had

picked up

a broken and bent

and trampled-upon

palm branch

found a place to stand

at the edge of the dirt road.

The crowds grew.

Loud “Hosannas”,

growing hopes,

and whispers of great discontent

surrounded the child.

He knew not what to shout …

his palm branch 

was a sad sight to behold.

He was pushed around

as if invisible 

(but that was nothing new to him).

The child’s heart raced

as the man came near,

riding on a lumbering donkey.

The “Hosannas” grew louder.

The child’s words

were only whispers.

“LORD, please look my way.

Please wave at me.

Please let me know

that I am not as

invisible as others

make me to be.”

From the One

who was riding on a donkey

into Jerusalem,

there was eye contact …

there was a smile…

and there were words

from his soon-to-be-parched lips.

“MY BELOVED CHILD.”

And that was enough. 

Enough .... for today.

"This is the Day Before ..."

In the fields

on the outskirts

of Jerusalem,

a weary one sighs

and whispers,

“You are my God.”

Bending down,

he picks up a palm branch…

broken and bent,

much like his spirit.

For that reason alone,

he holds onto it,

dragging the branch along

as he walks,

making what looks like

to anyone else

a path

in the dirt

outside of Jerusalem.

THIS IS THE DAY BEFORE ...

There is a growing crowd,

whispering,

murmuring,

shouting,

hopeful,

angry,

confused,

waiting,

watching.

THIS IS THE DAY BEFORE ...

Among the others

is the one with the

bent branch

and the broken spirit.

Yes, caught up in the crowds,

I can be found ...

and you as well,

tightly holding onto

our own palm branch.

We wait …

for some unknown reason

we wait.

The path

into Jerusalem

remains,

brushed in the dirt

by a palm branch.

Why are we waiting?

Shhh…

THIS IS THE DAY BEFORE

Wish'n and Hope'n

I'm afraid that we have watered down HOPE by too often equating it with our WISHES. I'm a writer and I see words as having different dimensions to them. WISHES are very flat to me. Mere words on a piece of paper, in wish-list form. Words that have no true hope or love behind them. No change of heart. No change of posture in and through prayer. No promise. No relationship or conversation with God and God with us.

But HOPE is different! HOPE in prayer brings Love into the equation! HOPE splits our very hearts open-wide in prayer, both on our own behalf and on the behalf of others. It is impossible to HOPE in our prayers without Love ... love for ourselves in the knowledge that we are one of God's beloved children ... love for others who are also God's beloved ... and love for the One who listens carefully to our HOPES, who sends us out to become Christ's very hands in these HOPES, and who is completely faithful in Love.

And so, if I say that I "hope" something for you (yes, you, my blog followers .. and you who have stumble across these words), know that what I have hoped are not mere words to me. Please know that my hopes for you have been whispered to the One who is Love. My hopes for you are surrounded in love for you see, it can be no other way!