Easter

Lent gathers up her cloak of sombre shading

   In her reluctant hands.

Her beauty heightens, fairest in its fading,
   As pensively she stands
Awaiting Easter’s benediction falling,
   Like silver stars at night,
Before she can obey the summons calling
   Her to her upward flight,
Awaiting Easter’s wings that she must borrow
   Ere she can hope to fly—
Those glorious wings that we shall see to-morrow
   Against the far, blue sky.
Has not the purple of her vesture’s lining
   Brought calm and rest to all?
Has her dark robe had naught of golden shining
   Been naught but pleasure’s pall?
Who knows? Perhaps when to the world returning
   In youth’s light joyousness,
We’ll wear some rarer jewels we found burning
   In Lent’s black-bordered dress.
So hand in hand with fitful March she lingers
   To beg the crowning grace
Of lifting with her pure and holy fingers
   The veil from April’s face.
Sweet, rosy April—laughing, sighing, waiting
   Until the gateway swings,
And she and Lent can kiss between the grating
   Of Easter’s tissue wings.
Too brief the bliss—the parting comes with sorrow.
   Good-bye dear Lent, good-bye!
We’ll watch your fading wings outlined to-morrow
   Against the far blue sky.

---Tekahionwake (Emily Pauline Johnson) (1961-1913), Canadian-Mohawk poet, Chautauqua speaker, journalist, storyteller, and Indigenous advocate.

Eucharistic Prayer from Salal + Cedar

God be with you.
And also with you.
Lift up your hearts.
We lift them up to God.
Let us give thanks to God our Creator.
It is right to give our thanks and praise.

We give thanks to you for Jesus, whose first bed was a feed trough. He was baptized in the Jordan, tested in the wilderness, he traveled in fishing boats and told parables of farmers and seeds, labor and wages, yeast and bread.

We praise you here in the Bow and Elbow River watersheds, where both city and farm, wilderness and industry are side by side. We praise you at a time when the body of earth is broken again and again.

We give thanks for our place in the story of salvation. Our ancestors journeyed with you in creation and migration. They depended on the land, were displaced from the land and displaced others from their lands. They knew you in tents and cities, on mountains and by wells, in families and in dreams, and through wilderness prophets who spoke of lodgepole pines and listened to crows.

Together with angels and ancestors, chickadee and magpie, bear, moose and trout, aspen and larch, we join our voices with all creation in this ancient honour song (said):

Holy, holy, holy Lord,
God of power and might
Heaven and earth are full of your glory.
Hosanna in the highest.
Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord.
Hosanna in the highest.

On the night before he died, Jesus took bread, food of the poor, the work of field and hearth, he gave thanks, broke it and gave it to his friends saying: Take and eat, this is my body, given for you, do this to remember me.

Again after supper he took the cup of wine, fruit of the land, gave thanks and gave it to his friends saying: This is my blood, which is shed for you. When you do this, do it in memory of me.

Remembering Jesus’ life, death and resurrection and awaiting his coming kingdom, we offer you this bread and this cup.

Creator, send your Spirit on these gifts so that we know Jesus in them and are gathered together with everyone who shares this sacred meal of justice and community. Fill us with the courage and love of Jesus that we may strive for justice and peace, respect the dignity of every human being, and safeguard the integrity of creation. All honor and glory are yours, Creator, Christ and Spirit, now and forever. Amen.


--Eucharistic Prayer adapted from Salal + Cedar, Anglican Diocese of New Westminster. Salal + Cedar's website is here.

Brier (Good Friday)

Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm 

Bends back the brier that edges life’s long way, 

That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.

Because I never knew your care to tire,
Your hand to weary guiding me aright, 

Because you walk before and crush the brier, 

It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.

Because so often you have hearkened to
My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now, 

That these harsh hands of mine add not unto 

The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.

-- E. Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake) (1861-1913), Canadian and Mohawk poet, performer, and feminist