Like Jesus to the Crows

    

that gathered there along his arms,
upon the invitation of a slender limb.
And not oblivious to human violence
perhaps needed rest or needed to offer
the succor of presence, despite the
stiff collar of their feathers, despite
each one being no less the children
of a father who claimed an upper realm.

It is not true they pecked his eyes. Nor
did they consider his wounds
their own. They were neither irreverent
nor quiet. They spoke in the tongues
they knew. They cawed full voiced
and would have released him from his
bindings had their beaks held the power
and had there been time in that place.

Like them, I have sought to comfort and
so be comforted. Like them
I have seen the failure of miracles when
they were most needed. Like Him, I
have called upon those so unlike myself
when my father failed to answer.

--- Vievee Francis, poet, professor, and associate  editor of Cullaloo, from Forest Primeval, 2016

Image: Jesus, by Tamàs Kerti, Hungarian artist and 3-D animator

St. Dismas

 

St. Dismas

I think of you as the prince carried home, lord, lion
With a thorn mane riding on the thumbs
Of hunters in the black air smiling,
So hungry. You’re bleeding. I need to believe in
So I believe in your blood, the long down-rivers of your waist.
Listen, is this how fathers love?
I hear your chest try to escape its ruined field,
I hear how your cheek lolls in the dark
Of your neck. Forgive parts the dry lips, lord,
Can we all live in that murmur, the slight press of tooth
To tongue. Do we speak to them, down there? Spit and split
The moonlight. Your mother’s hands float on our feet like water.
I want that you remember me when you get there,
Take me through the shock, roped by biceps,
Already part way up the sky.
Who dies first. Who dies in the lanternlight swinging.
I begin to love you deep
In the valve your father pinned
In my heart

-- Eve Jones, poet, photographer, and professor at Lindenwood University (MFA UMSL), from Dappled Things journal

39One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!" 40But the other rebuked him, saying, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? 41And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong." 42Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." 43He replied, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise."-- Luke 23:39-43

Scripture Reference: Luke 22:14-23:56 (The Passion Narrative), Palm/Passion Sunday, Good Friday; Reign of Christ C Proper 29C

Image: Remember Me, Barbara de Reus Kamma, New Guinean/Dutch, chamois leather and scrap wood, story can be found here at artway.eu.

Taize: "Jesus, Remember Me..."

The Passion of Our Lady

For the past three days she had been wandering, and following.
She followed the people.
She followed the events.
She seemed to be following a funeral.
But it was a living man’s funeral.
She followed like a follower.
Like a servant.
Like a weeper at a Roman funeral.
As if it had been her only occupation.
To weep.
That is what he had done to his mother.
Since the day when he had begun his mission.
You saw her everywhere.
With the people and a little apart from the people.
Under the porticoes, under the arcades, in drafty places.
In the temples, in the palaces.
In the streets.
In the yards and in the back-yards.
And she had also gone up to Calvary.
She too had climbed up Calvary.
A very steep hill.
And she did not even feel that she was walking.
She did not even feel that her feet were carrying her.
She too had gone up her Calvary.
She too had gone up and up
In the general confusion, lagging a little behind...
She wept and wept under a big linen veil.
A big blue veil.
A little faded.
She wept as will never be granted to a woman to weep.
As it will never be asked
Of a woman to weep on this earth.
Never at any time.
What was very strange was that everyone respected her.
People greatly respect the parents of the condemned.
They even said: Poor woman.
And at the same time they struck at her son.
Because man is like that.
The world is like that.
Men are what they are and you never can change them.
She did not know that, on the contrary, he had come to change man.
That he had come to change the world.
She followed and wept.
Everybody respected her.
Everybody pitied her.
They said: Poor woman.
Because they weren’t bad at heart.
They fulfilled the Scriptures.
They honored, respected, and admired her grief.
They didn’t make her go away,
they pushed her back only a little with special attentions
Because she was the mother of the condemned.
They thought: It’s the family of the condemned.
They even said so in a low voice.
They said it among themselves
With a secret admiration.

She followed and wept, and didn’t understand very well.
But she understood quite well that the government was against her boy.
And that is a very bad business.
She understood that all the governments were together against her boy.
The government of the Jews and the government of the Romans.
The government of judges and the government of priests.
The government of soldiers and the government of parsons.
He could never get out of it.
Certainly not.
What was strange was that all derision was heaped on him.
Not on her at all.
There was only respect for her.
For her grief.
They didn’t insult her.
On the contrary.
People even refrained from looking at her too much.
All the more to respect her.
So she too had gone up.
Gone up with everybody else.
Up to the very top of the hill.
Without even being aware of it.
Her legs had carried her and she did not even know it.
She too had made the Way of the Cross.
The fourteen stations of the Way of the Cross.
Were there fourteen stations?
Were there really fourteen stations?
She didn’t know for sure.
She couldn’t remember.
Yet she had not missed one.
She was sure of that.
But you can always make a mistake.
In moments like that your head swims.
Everybody was against him.
Everybody wanted him to die.
It is strange.
People who are not usually together.
The government and the people.
That was awful luck.
When you have someone for you and someone against you,
sometimes you can get out of it.
You can scramble out of it.
But he wouldn’t.
Certainly he wouldn’t.
When you have everyone against you.
But what had he done to everyone?

I’ll tell you.
He had saved the world.

--Charles Peguy (1873-1914), French poet, essayist, journalist, and editor, Socialist and fervent Roman Catholic, who died at the Battle of the Marne Translated from the French by Julian Green.

And a Good Friday Was Had By All

You men there, keep those women back
and God Almighty he laid down
on the crossed timber and Old Silenus
my offsider looked at me as if to say
nice work for soldiers, your mind’s not your own 

once you sign that dotted line Ave Caesar
and all that malarkey Imperator Rex

well this Nazarene
didn’t make it any easier
really – not like the ones
who kick up a fuss so you can
do your block and take it out on them
                                                            Silenus 

held the spikes steady and I let fly
with the sledge-hammer, not looking
on the downswing trying hard not to hear 

over the women’s wailing the bones give way 

the iron shocking the dumb wood.

Orders is orders, I said after it was over
nothing personal you understand – we had a 

drill-sergeant once thought he was God but he wasn’t 

a patch on you

then we hauled on the ropes
and he rose in the hot air
like a diver just leaving the springboard, arms spread 

so it seemed
over the whole damned creation
over the big men who must have had it in for him

and the curious ones who’ll watch anything if it’s free
with only the usual women caring anywhere
and a blind man in tears.

--Bruce Dawe (1930-2020) Australian poet and academic

Scriptural reference: Matthew 27:32-56

Image: Crucifixion from the Rabbula Gospels, an illuminated manuscript completed in 586 CE at the monastery of St. John of Zagba and what is today Syria. This is the earliest crucifixion scene known in a manuscript. The full original image, which also includes a resurrection scene, is 13x10.5 inches.

As explained at Christianiconography.info, 

"As in many early Crucifixions, Jesus wears a liturgical "colobium," not the skimpy perizoma of the thieves. The word above the man with the spear can be transliterated as LOGINOS – that is, the soldier Longinus, whose blindness was cured by the blood that flowed from Jesus' side. On the other side of the cross is the man with the sponge; in front, the soldiers dicing for Jesus' garment. The woman on the left is most likely the Virgin Mary, standing beside St. John. She resembles Mary Magdalene in the lower panel, but is not as slim or erect.

The lower panel presents the Resurrection as told in Matthew 28. In the center we see how "the guards were struck with terror, and became as dead men" at the opening of the tomb (verse 4). The tomb is modeled on the actual Aedicula in Jerusalem. An angel sits on a sarcophagus beside it and tells "Mary Magdalen and the other Mary" that Jesus is risen and they should go and tell the disciples (verses 5-7). On the right Jesus greets the women and they "took hold of his feet, and adored him" (verses 8-10).

The "other Mary" may be the "mother of James" who accompanies Mary Magdalene in Mark 16:1. However, it is just possible that the haloed woman in the lower panel is not Mary Magdalene but Mary the mother of Jesus. The Golden Legend cites two early Christian writers supporting the opinion that it was to his mother that Christ first appeared, and that she was the one who told the disciples (Ryan, I, 222). If that is what the image is asserting, then the "other Mary" would most likely be Mary Magdalene."

Script: The Passion Narrative from Luke, adapted

Script: The Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ

According to Luke 22:14-23:56

(The Congregation may be seated for the first part of the Passion. At the verse, which mentions the arrival at Golgotha, all stand.)

Narrator: When the hour came, he took his place at the table, and the apostles with him. He said to them,

Jesus: I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.

Narrator: Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he said,

Jesus: Take this and divide it among yourselves; for I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.

Narrator: Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying,

Jesus: This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.

Narrator: And he did the same with the cup after supper, saying,

Jesus: This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood. But see, the one who betrays me is with me, and his hand is on the table. For the Son of Man is going as it has been determined, but woe to that one by whom he is betrayed!

Narrator: Then they began to ask one another which one of them it could be who would do this.
     A dispute also arose among them as to which one of them was to be regarded as the greatest. But he said to them,

Jesus: The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you; rather the greatest among you must become like the youngest, and the leader like one who serves. For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one at the table? But I am among you as one who serves.
     You are those who have stood by me in my trials; and I confer on you, just as my Father has conferred on me, a kingdom, so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and you will sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel.
     Simon, Simon, listen! Satan has demanded to sift all of you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your own faith may not fail; and you, when once you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.’

Peter: Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death!’

Jesus: I tell you, Peter, the cock will not crow this day, until you have denied three times that you know me.
     When I sent you out without a purse, bag, or sandals, did you lack anything?’

Congregation: No, not a thing.

Jesus: ‘But now, the one who has a purse must take it, and likewise a bag. And the one who has no sword must sell his cloak and buy one. For I tell you, this scripture must be fulfilled in me, “And he was counted among the lawless;” and indeed what is written about me is being fulfilled.

Congregation: Lord, look, here are two swords.

Jesus: It is enough.

Narrator: Jesus came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives; and the disciples followed him. When he reached the place, he said to them,

Jesus: Pray that you may not come into the time of trial.

Narrator: Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed,

Jesus: Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.

Narrator: Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength. In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground. When he got up from prayer, he came to the disciples and found them sleeping because of grief, and he said to them,

Jesus: Why are you sleeping? Get up and pray that you may not come into the time of trial.

Narrator: While he was still speaking, suddenly a crowd came, and the one called Judas, one of the twelve, was leading them. He approached Jesus to kiss him; but Jesus said to him,

Jesus: Judas, is it with a kiss that you are betraying the Son of Man?

Narrator: When those who were around him saw what was coming, they asked,

Congregation: Lord, should we strike with the sword?

Narrator: Then one of them struck the slave of the high priest and cut off his right ear. But Jesus said,

Jesus: No more of this!

Narrator: And he touched his ear and healed him. Then Jesus said to the leaders of the people, the officers of the police, and the elders who had come for him,

Jesus: Have you come out with swords and clubs as if I were a bandit? When I was with you day after day in the temple, you did not lay hands on me. But this is your hour, and the power of darkness.

Narrator: Then they seized him and led him away, bringing him into the high priest’s house. But Peter was following at a distance. When they had kindled a fire in the middle of the courtyard and sat down together, Peter sat among them. Then a servant-girl, seeing him in the firelight, stared at him and said,

Servant Girl: This man also was with him.

Narrator: But Peter denied it, saying

Peter: Woman, I do not know him.

Narrator: A little later someone else, on seeing him, said,

Bystander 1: You also are one of them.

Narrator: But Peter said,

Peter: Man, I am NOT!

Narrator: Then about an hour later yet another kept insisting,

Bystander 2: Surely this man also was with him; for he is a Galilean.

Narrator: But Peter said,

Peter: Man, I do not know what you are talking about!

Narrator: At that moment, while he was still speaking, the cock crowed. The Lord turned and looked at Peter. Then Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said to him, ‘Before the cock crows today, you will deny me three times.’ And he went out and wept bitterly.
     Now the men who were holding Jesus began to mock him and beat him; they also blindfolded him and kept asking him,

Congregation: Prophesy! Who is it that struck you?

Narrator: They kept heaping many other insults on him.
     When day came, the assembly of the elders of the people gathered together, and they brought him to their council. They said,

Congregation: If you are the Messiah, tell us.

Narrator: Jesus replied,

Jesus: If I tell you, you will not believe; and if I question you, you will not answer. But from now on the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the power of God.

Narrator: All of them asked,

Congregation: Are you, then, the Son of God?

Narrator: Jesus said to them,

Jesus: You say that I am.

Narrator: Then they said,

Congregation: What further testimony do we need? We have heard it ourselves from his own lips!

Narrator: Then the assembly rose as a body and brought Jesus before Pilate. They began to accuse him, saying,

Congregation: We found this man perverting our nation, forbidding us to pay taxes to the emperor, and saying that he himself is the Messiah, a king.

Narrator: Then Pilate asked him,

Pilate: Are you the king of the Jews?

Narrator: Jesus answered,

Jesus: You say so.

Narrator: Then Pilate said to the leaders and the crowds,

Pilate: I find no basis for an accusation against this man.

Narrator: But they were insistent and said,

Congregation: He stirs up the people by teaching throughout all Judea, from Galilee where he began even to this place.

Narrator: When Pilate heard this, he asked whether the man was a Galilean. And when he learned that he was under Herod’s jurisdiction, he sent him off to Herod, who was himself in Jerusalem at that time. When Herod saw Jesus, he was very glad, for he had been wanting to see him for a long time, because he had heard about him and was hoping to see him perform some sign. He questioned him at some length, but Jesus gave him no answer. The leaders of the people stood by, vehemently accusing him. Even Herod with his soldiers treated him with contempt and mocked him; then he put an elegant robe on him, and sent him back to Pilate. That same day Herod and Pilate became friends with each other; before this they had been enemies.
     Pilate then called together the religious authorities, the leaders, and the people, and said to them,

Pilate: You brought me this man as one who was perverting the people; and here I have examined him in your presence and have not found this man guilty of any of your charges against him. Neither has Herod, for he sent him back to us. Indeed, he has done nothing to deserve death. I will therefore have him flogged and release him.

Narrator: Then the people all shouted out together,

Congregation: Away with this fellow! Release Barabbas for us!

Narrator: (This was a man who had been put in prison for an insurrection that had taken place in the city, and for murder.) Pilate, wanting to release Jesus, addressed them again; but they kept shouting,

Congregation: Crucify, crucify him!

Narrator: A third time he said to them,

Pilate: Why, what evil has he done? I have found in him no ground for the sentence of death; I will therefore have him flogged and then release him.’

Narrator: But the people kept urgently demanding with loud shouts that he should be crucified; and their voices prevailed. So Pilate gave his verdict that their demand should be granted. He released the man they asked for, the one who had been put in prison for insurrection and murder, and he handed Jesus over as they wished.
     As they led him away, they seized a man, Simon of Cyrene, who was coming from the country, and they laid the cross on him, and made him carry it behind Jesus. A great number of the people followed him, and among them were women who were beating their breasts and wailing for him. But Jesus turned to them and said,

Jesus: Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For the days are surely coming when they will say, “Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never nursed.” Then they will begin to say to the mountains, “Fall on us;” and to the hills, “Cover us.” For if they do this when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?’

Narrator: Two others also, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with him.

The congregation will stand as able.

Narrator: When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said,

Jesus: Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.

Narrator: And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by, watching; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying,

Congregation: He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, God’s chosen one!

Narrator: The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying,

Congregation: If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!

Narrator: There was also an inscription over him, ‘This is the King of the Jews.’
     One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying,

Unrepentant Criminal: Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’

Narrator: But the other rebuked him, saying,

Repentant Criminal: Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.’
     ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’

Narrator: Jesus replied,

Jesus: Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’

Narrator: It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said,

Jesus: Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.

Narrator: Having said this, he breathed his last.

Silence is observed.

Narrator: When the centurion saw what had taken place, he praised God and said,

Centurion: Certainly this man was innocent.

Narrator: And when all the crowds who had gathered there for this spectacle saw what had taken place, they returned home, beating their breasts. But all his acquaintances, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things.
     Now there was a good and righteous man named Joseph, who, though a member of the council, had not agreed to their plan and action. He came from the Jewish town of Arimathea, and he was waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God. This man went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. Then he took it down, wrapped it in a linen cloth, and laid it in a rock-hewn tomb where no one had ever been laid. It was the day of Preparation, and the sabbath was beginning. The women who had come with him from Galilee followed, and they saw the tomb and how his body was laid. Then they returned, and prepared spices and ointments.

On the sabbath they rested according to the commandment.

STAGING NOTES

In light of appearances of ant-Judaism in the Passion texts, reference to Jews changed to "the people;" references to religious authorities in most cases changed to "leaders of the people" or "elders" or "the council."
 

Parts assigned to the Congregation based on the idea that we are all disciples, and at the same time we are all those who place Jesus on the cross.

Roles to Fulfill/ Grouping
(Minimum 8 voices; Maximum 11)

Narrator
Jesus
Peter
Servant Girl
Bystander 1
Bystander 2
Pilate
Unrepentant Criminal
Repentant Criminal
Centurion
Congregation (Disciples/Soldiers/Elders/Assembly/Crowds)

Possible to group-- Servant Girl with Unrepentant Criminal; Bystander 1 with Repentant Criminal; Bystander 2 with Centurion

Good Friday

I deserve this death, Betrayed, broken, and despised, You did nothing wrong. If truly you still want me, Blessed be this day in my sight.

INRI

The two fools died first. Would Barabbas hung by me— Paradise enough. Let me once down from this cross I’d fling the nails in your eyes.

--Charles Munger, Jr. from Journey with Jesus 

The Seven Last Words

1
The story of the end, of the last word
of the end, when told, is a story that never ends.
We tell it and retell it — one word, then another
until it seems that no last word is possible,
that none would be bearable. Thus, when the hero
of the story says to himself, as to someone far away,
‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do,’
we may feel that he is pleading for us, that we are
the secret life of the story and, as long as his plea
is not answered, we shall be spared. So the story
continues. So we continue. And the end, once more,
becomes the next, and the next after that.

2
There is an island in the dark, a dreamt-of place
where the muttering wind shifts over the white lawns
and riffles the leaves of trees, the high trees
that are streaked with gold and line the walkways there;
and those already arrived are happy to be the silken
remains of something they were but cannot recall;
they move to the sound of stars, which is also imagined,
but who cares about that; the polished columns they see
may be no more than shafts of sunlight, but for those
who live on and on in the radiance of their remains
this is of little importance. There is an island
in the dark and you will be there, I promise you, you
shall be with me in paradise, in the single season of being,
in the place of forever, you shall find yourself. And there
the leaves will turn and never fall, there the wind
will sing and be your voice as if for the first time.

3
Someday some one will write a story set
in a place called The Skull, and it will tell,
among other things, of a parting between mother
and son, of how she wandered off, of how he vanished
in air. But before that happens, it will describe
how their faces shone with a feeble light and how
the son was moved to say, ‘Woman, look at your son,’
then to a friend nearby, ‘Son, look at your mother.’
At which point the writer will put down his pen
and imagine that while those words were spoken
something else happened, something unusual like
a purpose revealed, a secret exchanged, a truth
to which they, the mother and son, would be bound,
but what it was no one would know. Not even the writer.

4
These are the days when the sky is filled with
the odor of lilac, when darkness becomes desire,
when there is nothing that does not wish to be born.
These are the days of spring when the fate
of the present is a breezy fullness, when the world’s
great gift for fiction gilds even the dirt we walk on.
On such days we feel we could live forever, yet all
the while we know we cannot. This is the doubleness
in which we dwell. The great master of weather
and everything else, if he wishes, can bring forth
a dark of a different kind, one hidden by darkness
so deep it cannot be seen. No one escapes.
Not even the man who saved others, and believed
he was the chosen son. When the dark came down
even he cried out, ‘Father, father, why have you
forsaken me?’ But to his words no answer came.

5
To be thirsty. To say, ‘I thirst.’ To be given,
instead of water, vinegar, and that to be pressed
from a sponge. To close one’s eyes and see the giant
world that is born each time the eyes are closed.
To see one’s death. To see the darkening clouds
as the tragic cloth of a day of mourning. To be the one
mourned. To open the dictionary of the Beyond and discover
what one suspected, that the only word in it
is nothing. To try to open one’s eyes, but not to be
able to. To feel the mouth burn. To feel the sudden
presence of what, again and again, was not said.
To translate it and have it remain unsaid. To know
at last that nothing is more real than nothing.

6
‘It is finished,’ he said. You could hear him say it,
the words almost a whisper, then not even that,
but an echo so faint it seemed no longer to come
from him, but from elsewhere. This was his moment,
his final moment. “It is finished,” he said into a vastness
that led to an even greater vastness, and yet all of it
within him. He contained it all. That was the miracle,
to be both large and small in the same instant, to be
like us, but more so, then finally to give up the ghost,
which is what happened. And from the storm that swirled
a formal nakedness took shape, the truth of disguise
and the mask of belief were joined forever.

7
Back down these stairs to the same scene,
to the moon, the stars, the night wind. Hours pass
and only the harp off in the distance and the wind
moving through it. And soon the sun’s gray disk,
darkened by clouds, sailing above. And beyond,
as always, the sea of endless transparence, of utmost
calm, a place of constant beginning that has within it
what no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, what no hand
has touched, what has not arisen in the human heart.
To that place, to the keeper of that place, I commit myself.

--Mark Strand (1934-2014) American poet and translator, US Poet Laureate 1990

Savior

Petulant priests, greedy
centurions, and one million
incensed gestures stand
between your love and me.

Your agape sacrifice
is reduced to colored glass,
vapid penance, and the
tedium of ritual.

Your footprints yet
mark the crest of
billowing seas but
your joy
fades upon the tablets
of ordained prophets.

Visit us again, Savior.
Your children, burdened with
disbelief, blinded by a patina
of wisdom,
carom down this vale of
fear. We cry for you
although we have lost
your name.

-- Maya Angelou (1928-2014), African American autobiographer, poet, humanitarian, and activist

Stations of the Cross : 1- Jesus is condemned to death

The very air that Pilate breathes, the voice
With which he speaks in judgment, all his powers
Of perception and discrimination, choice,
Decision, all his years, his days and hours,
His consciousness of self, his every sense,
Are given by this prisoner, freely given.
The man who stands there making no defence,
Is God. His hands are tied, His heart is open.
And he bears Pilate’s heart in his and feels
That crushing weight of wasted life. He lifts
It up in silent love. He lifts and heals.
He gives himself again with all his gifts
Into our hands. As Pilate turns away
A door swings open. This is judgment day.

--Malcolm Guite (1957- ), Anglican priest, poet, songwriter, musician, and academic, from Sounding the Seasons (2012), also found at https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/

Stations of the Cross: 2- Jesus is given his cross

He gives himself again with all his gifts
And now we give him something in return.
He gave the earth that bears, the air that lifts,
Water to cleanse and cool, fire to burn,
And from these elements he forged the iron,
From strands of life he wove the growing wood,
He made the stones that pave the roads of Zion
He saw it all and saw that it is good.
We took his iron to edge an axe’s blade,
We took the axe and laid it to the tree,
We made a cross of all that he has made,
And laid it on the one who made us free.
Now he receives again and lifts on high
The gifts he gave and we have turned awry.

--Malcolm Guite (1957- ), Anglican priest, poet, songwriter, musician, and academic, from Sounding the Seasons (2012), also found at https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/

Stations of the Cross 3: Jesus falls for the first time

He made the stones that pave the roads of Zion
And well he knows the path we make him tread
He met the devil as a roaring lion
And still refused to turn these stones to bread,
Choosing instead, as Love will always choose,
This darker path into the heart of pain.
And now he falls upon the stones that bruise
The flesh, that break and scrape the tender skin.
He and the earth he made were never closer,
Divinity and dust come face to face.
We flinch back from his via dolorosa,
He sets his face like flint and takes our place,
Staggers beneath the black weight of us all
And falls with us that he might break our fall.

--Malcolm Guite (1957- ), Anglican priest, poet, songwriter, musician, and academic, from Sounding the Seasons (2012), also found at https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/

Stations of the Cross 4: Jesus meets his mother

This darker path into the heart of pain
Was also hers whose love enfolded him
In flesh and wove him in her womb. Again
The sword is piercing. She, who cradled him
And gentled and protected her young son
Must stand and watch the cruelty that mars
Her maiden making. Waves of pain that stun
And sicken pass across his face and hers
As their eyes meet. Now she enfolds the world
He loves in prayer; the mothers of the disappeared
Who know her pain, all bodies bowed and curled
In desperation on this road of tears,
All the grief-stricken in their last despair,
Are folded in the mantle of her prayer.

--Malcolm Guite (1957- ), Anglican priest, poet, songwriter, musician, and academic, from Sounding the Seasons (2012), also found at https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/

Stations of the Cross 5: Simon of Cyrene carries the cross

In desperation on this road of tears
Bystanders and bypassers turn away
In other’s pain we face our own worst fears
And turn our backs to keep those fears at bay
Unless we are compelled as this man was
By force of arms or force of circumstance
To face and feel and carry someone’s cross
In Love’s full glare and not his backward glance.
So Simon, no disciple, still fulfilled
The calling: ‘take the cross and follow me’.
By accident his life was stalled and stilled
Becoming all he was compelled to be.
Make me, like him, your pressed man and your priest,
Your alter Christus, burdened and released.

--Malcolm Guite (1957- ), Anglican priest, poet, songwriter, musician, and academic, from Sounding the Seasons (2012), also found at https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/

Stations of the Cross: 6- Veronica wipes the face of Jesus

Bystanders and bypassers turn away
And wipe his image from their memory
She keeps her station. She is here to stay
And stem the flow. She is the reliquary
Of his last look on her. The bloody sweat
And salt tears of his love are soaking through
The folds of her devotion and the wet
Folds of her handkerchief, like the dew
Of morning, like a softening rain of grace.
Because she wiped the grime from off his skin,
And glimpsed the godhead in his human face
Whose hidden image we all bear within,
Through all our veils and shrouds of daily pain
The face of God is shining once again.

--Malcolm Guite (1957- ), Anglican priest, poet, songwriter, musician, and academic, from Sounding the Seasons (2012), also found at https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/

Stations of the Cross: 7- Jesus falls the Second Time

Through all our veils and shrouds of daily pain,
Through our bruised bruises and re-opened scars,
He falls and stumbles with us, hurt again
When we are hurt again. With us he bears
The cruel repetitions of our cruelty;
The beatings of already beaten men,
The second rounds of torture, the futility
Of all unheeded pleading, every scream in vain.
And by this fall he finds the fallen souls
Who passed a first, but failed a second trial,
The souls who thought their faith would hold them whole
And found it only held them for a while.
Be with us when the road is twice as long
As we can bear. By weakness make us strong.

--Malcolm Guite (1957- ), Anglican priest, poet, songwriter, musician, and academic, from Sounding the Seasons (2012), also found at https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/

Stations of the Cross: 8- Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem

He falls and stumbles with us, hurt again
But still he holds the road and looks in love
On all of us who look on him. Our pain
As close to him as his. These women move
Compassion in him as he does in them.
He asks us both to weep and not to weep. 
Women of Gaza and Jerusalem,
Women of every nation where the deep
Wounds of memory divide the land
And lives of all your children, where the mines
Of all our wars are sown: Afghanistan,
Iraq, the Cote d’Ivoire… he reads the signs
And weeps with you and with you he will stay
Until the day he wipes your tears away.

--Malcolm Guite (1957- ), Anglican priest, poet, songwriter, musician, and academic, from Sounding the Seasons (2012), also found at https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/

Stations of the Cross: 9- Jesus falls the third time

He weeps with you and with you he will stay
When all your staying power has run out
You can’t go on, you go on anyway.
He stumbles just beside you when the doubt
That always haunts you, cuts you down at last
And takes away the hope that drove you on.
This is the third fall and it hurts the worst
This long descent through darkness to depression
From which there seems no rising and no will
To rise, or breathe or bear your own heart beat.
Twice you survived; this third will surely kill,
And you could almost wish for that defeat
Except that in the cold hell where you freeze
You find your God beside you on his knees.

--Malcolm Guite (1957- ), Anglican priest, poet, songwriter, musician, and academic, from Sounding the Seasons (2012), also found at https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/

Stations of the Cross 10: Jesus is stripped of his garments

You can’t go on, you go on anyway
He goes with you, his cradle to your grave.
Now is the time to loosen, cast away
The useless weight of everything but love
For he began his letting go before,
Before the worlds for which he dies were made,
Emptied himself, became one of the poor,
To make you rich in him and unafraid.
See as they strip the robe from off his back
They strip away your own defences too
Now you could lose it all and never lack
Now you can see what naked Love can do
Let go these bonds beneath whose weight you bow
His stripping strips you both for action now

--Malcolm Guite (1957- ), Anglican priest, poet, songwriter, musician, and academic, from Sounding the Seasons (2012), also found at https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/

Stations of the Cross: 11- Jesus is nailed to the cross

See, as they strip the robe from off his back
And spread his arms and nail them to the cross,
The dark nails pierce him and the sky turns black,
And love is firmly fastened onto loss.
But here a pure change happens. On this tree
Loss becomes gain, death opens into birth.
Here wounding heals and fastening makes free
Earth breathes in heaven, heaven roots in earth.
And here we see the length, the breadth, the height
Where love and hatred meet and love stays true
Where sin meets grace and darkness turns to light
We see what love can bear and be and do,
And here our saviour calls us to his side
His love is free, his arms are open wide.

--Malcolm Guite (1957- ), Anglican priest, poet, songwriter, musician, and academic, from Sounding the Seasons (2012), also found at https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/

Stations of the Cross: 12- Jesus dies on the cross

The dark nails pierce him and the sky turns black
We watch him as he labours to draw breath
He takes our breath away to give it back,
Return it to it’s birth through his slow death.
We hear him struggle breathing through the pain
Who once breathed out his spirit on the deep,
Who formed us when he mixed the dust with rain
And drew us into consciousness from sleep.
His spirit and his life he breathes in all
Mantles his world in his one atmosphere
And now he comes to breathe beneath the pall
Of our pollutions, draw our injured air
To cleanse it and renew. His final breath
Breathes us, and bears us through the gates of death.

--Malcolm Guite (1957- ), Anglican priest, poet, songwriter, musician, and academic, from Sounding the Seasons (2012), also found at https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/