Without a Doubt (John 20:19-31)

A large “D”

has been carefully

stitched to

his robe.

The word

has been 

branded

across his 

forehead.

Fingers point

and 

condemning whispers

are heard.

doubter…

Doubter….

DOUBTER!

Help us, O God,

to put away our

needles and thread …

to put down our

branding irons …

to stop pointing

and whispering

“DOUBTER.”

Help us, O God,

to better seek 

the Sought-After-One,

to desire

a personal encounter,

to fall to our knees

with this disciple’s

great, doubtless

affirmation of

faith.

“My LORD and my God!”

Without a doubt,

he knew.

WITHOUT A DOUBT!

©2014   anna murdock

reposted

Easter Morning - Whispers in a Garden

The birds were awake

at the mere hint of daybreak

and their songs

filled the air

as if to praise God

for all that had been accomplished …

as if they wanted 

to be the first to shout,

“Christ is risen .. Christ is risen indeed!”

Yet, the woman 

did not notice the joy

for her sorrow was great.

She whispered

his name 

and it echoed 

from an empty tomb -

“MY LORD”.

She had seen him

beaten …

bloodied …

mocked …

crucified …

dead.

Still, she whispered,

“MY LORD.”

Still, she heard 

only an echo.

Staring into the emptiness,

she again whispered,

“MY LORD.

Where have they taken him?”

His name 

has been whispered.

A presence is felt

and there is a rustling

in the gardens

of her life.

In the fog and mist

of her morning

and in the darkness 

of her dawn,

another whisper

is heard - “Mary.”

Oh, such blessed whispers

in a garden -

“My Lord” …

“Mary” …

“My Father and your Father” …

“My God and your God”.

The whispers are no more!

Thank God, 

the whispers are no more!

Shouts, yes SHOUTS

are heard.

Grace and mercy flows

down from the cross.  

Love walks out 

of a tomb, 

emptied on the third day.

Our names are 

whispered in a garden.

Go and tell others …

“CHRIST IS RISEN!  CHRIST IS RISEN INDEED!”

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.

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 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 well before

we hear words

that we need to hear

from God.

Today is Good Friday and Jesus is crucified.

THE END ... or is it?

Thursday of Holy Week (Maundy 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

The palm branches are now gone

and the garments have been gathered -

the dust of a Jerusalem road

no doubt still on them.

The question of the day

brings about more thought

than answers ...

"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 ...

not the One who resolutely

walked toward Jerusalem

with dust-covered sandals

and approached the city

riding on a lumbering donkey.

"How many coins? Thirty?"

There are plans and preparations today ...

A room is being prepared.

Coins are being counted.

Crosses are visible 

only on the horizon

of thoughts.

"What is happening on this day?

What should we make of it all?”

Tuesday of Holy Week

(Please read chosen scriptures John 2:13-22)

“Do away with your selective hearing,"

Jesus shouts,

"and your selective sight,

and your selective compassion

 and your selective worship."

"Do away with your tables,

so carefully placed,

waiting with shiny currency ...

perfect to make an unfair exchange.

Do away with the expensive sacrifices …

too expensive for those

who are most needy."

In this holiest of weeks,

when we still don’t understand

and when we see no need

for the clearing of those things,

we see you, Jesus,
methodically making a whip of cords

and we hear you shout –

yes, SHOUT at us!

"Do away with the distortion of worship!

Cleanse the holy temple!
Take these things out of here!

This IS my Father’s house!"

There might be a time

during this week

when our tables are overturned,

our money is scattered,

feathers fly,

and we find ourselves

scrambling.

There might be a time

when all we have left

is worship with no agenda

other than to worship our Lord,

and the forming of words

in our hearts of "injustice" and "love"

by the One

who shouted them at us

in the marketplace.

When tables are overturned

and money is scattered,  ...

when righteous indignation

of our Lord is seen and heard,

the least, the lost and the lonely

become visible

and we become a voice

in this gouging world.

When tables are overturned,

we might begin to overturn

shattered lives.

When feathers fly,

all might begin to soar.

(c)2012 anna murdock