Still
For Good Friday
This day
let all stand still
in silence,
in sorrow.
Sun and moon
be still.
Earth
be still.
Still
the waters.
Still
the wind.
Let the ground
gape in stunned
lamentation.
Let it weep
as it receives
what it thinks
it will not
give up.
Let it groan
as it gathers
the One
who was thought
forever stilled.
Time
be still.
Watch
and wait.
Still.
—Jan Richardson
from Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons
“He who is more fair than all the sons of men offered his fair face to be spat upon by sinful men; he allowed those eyes that rule the universe to be blindfolded by wicked men; he bared his back to the scourges; he submitted that head which strikes terror in principalities and powers to the sharpness of the thorns; he gave himself up to be mocked and reviled, and at the end enduring the cross, the nails, the lance, the gall, the vinegar, remaining always gentle, meek, and full of peace.” (St. Aelred)
“What can we learn from Peter’s turning around? First, it was not Peter who turned. It was the Lord who turned and looked at Peter. When the cock crew, that might have kept Peter from falling further, but he was just in the very act of sin. And when a person is in the thick of his sin, his last thought is to throw down his arms and repent. So Peter never thought of turning, but the Lord turned. And when Peter would rather have looked anywhere else than at the Lord, the Lord looked at Peter. This scarce-noticed fact is the only sermon needed to anyone who sins—that the Lord turned first.” (Henry Drummond)
For a more extensive and most beautiful meditation on this, do read W. Tyler Allen’s take. Imagine in his look, Christ saying to Peter, “Let me see your face. Let me hear your voice.” The Bridegroom constantly loves and pursues.
Two poems this Sunday by two different poets who were both inspired by pondering God’s garments. And both stemming from a felt need to frantically reach out to grab them. We can all feel that way at times, especially during Lent. I’ll just leave them here with the encouragement to try to place yourselves in each poem.
Suspended
I had grasped God’s garments in the void
but my hand slipped on the rich silk of it.
The ‘everlasting arms’ my sister loved to remember
must have upheld my leaden weight from falling, even so,
for though I claw at empty air and feel nothing, no embrace,
I have not plummeted.
Denise Levertov
The Garments of God
God sits on a chair of darkness in my soul.
He is God alone, supreme in His majesty.
I sit at His feet, a child in the dark beside Him;
my joy is aware of His glance and my sorrow is tempted
to nest on the thought that His face is turned from me.
He is clothed in the robes of His mercy, voluminous garments–
not velvet or silk and affable to the touch,
but fabric strong for a frantic hand to clutch,
and I hold to it fast with the fingers of my will.
Here is my cry of faith, my deep avowal
to the Divinity that I am but dust.
Here is the loud profession of my trust.
I need not go abroad
to the hills of speech or the hinterlands of music
for a crier to walk in my soul where all is still.
I have this potent prayer through good or ill:
here in the dark I clutch the garments of God.
Jessica Powers
I’m struck this morning, in reading the second reading from the Office of Readings for Ash Wednesday, by this verse: “Tell the sons of my people: If their sins should reach from earth to heaven, if they are brighter than scarlet and blacker than sackcloth, you need only turn to me with your whole heart and say, ‘Father,’ and I will listen to you as a holy people.”
God, first and foremost, wants relationship with us. That’s why he said to Adam and Eve immediately after they had sinned, “Where are you?” He felt the loss of relationship. He didn’t want any separation from them. And he feels it with us as well. He wants union and intimacy with us. That is what drives all that he does with each of us personally. His desire to have full and complete intimacy with us.
And he makes it so easy. We need only turn to him with our whole heart and say “Father!” He wants each of us to know him as Father, not taskmaster, not even master, but Father. A tender Father of mercies.
This is the point of Lent. This is the point of making space in our lives, of putting aside things, of fasting. It’s all to help our hearts, to quiet our hearts in order to turn to him and say “Father.”
Our prayers do not need to be long. He’s just asking one word of us said with our whole heart: “Father.”
If I could write up something to sum up my thoughts about how to approach Lent, it would be this.
“If Lent is a battlefield, the goal is victory. If it is a self-improvement cycle, the goal is progress. But if the wilderness is courtship, the goal is intimacy. The stripping is not about proving discipline; it is about clearing space.”
Do read the whole piece by clicking on the image below.
This is absolutely beautiful and so powerful.
In collaboration on a first-of-its-kind project for Holy Week, Wintershall Theatre Company and @christianart have joined forces on The Stations of the Cross: Pray with us, a short film depicting the fourteen scenes from Christ’s Passion. Filmed at Wintershall Estate against a striking 20-foot cinematic backdrop, each scene from the Stations of the Cross was carefully arranged, lit, and filmed to create the effect of a tableau vivant—a living painting.
“The tradition of tableaux vivants, or “living pictures,” dates back to the Middle Ages and gained popularity in the 18th and 19th centuries as a theatrical artform. In these staged scenes, actors would pose silently and motionlessly to recreate famous artworks or dramatic moments, often with elaborate costumes, lighting, and minimal movement. The tableau vivant artform has found new life in video, where the boundary between stillness and motion can be artfully explored, inviting the viewer to contemplation and often emotive experience.
“Written by Presented by Fr. Patrick van der Vorst”
A beautiful commentary from Leiva-Merikakis on the Bridegroom’s love for us in his Passion: “The arrival of this Passover has on Jesus the same effect as would the arrival of his wedding date on a bridegroom who is madly in love. The leaders say, ‘Not during the feast!’ But Jesus insists: ‘Yes! During the feast! For this Passover is my wedding feast with my Bride, mankind, a union to be consummated in my blood.'”
This passage has always held great significance for me, especially because of Christ’s invitation to me to live a consecrated life for him. But we, each in his or her own way, are invited by him to pour out what is most precious to us upon his feet, to enter into that intimacy with him, and this week is a most important time for us to do just that.
The Anointing at Bethany
Come close with Mary, Martha , Lazarus
So close the candles stir with their soft breath
And kindle heart and soul to flame within us
Lit by these mysteries of life and death.
For beauty now begins the final movement
In quietness and intimate encounter
The alabaster jar of precious ointment
Is broken open for the world’s true lover,
The whole room richly fills to feast the senses
With all the yearning such a fragrance brings,
The heart is mourning but the spirit dances,
Here at the very centre of all things,
Here at the meeting place of love and loss
We all foresee, and see beyond the cross.
Malcolm Guite
A blessed Palm Sunday and Holy Week. One of my favorite poems by Luci Shaw.
Royalty
He was a plain man
and learned no latin.
Having left all gold behind
he dealt out peace
to all us wild ones
and the weather.
He ate fish, bread,
country wine and God’s will.
Dust sandaled his feet.
He wore purple only once
and that was an irony.
~Luci Shaw
Witnesses to Hope 