Passionate Voices – Sunday Resurrection

John

As I look at him now, I do not understand but I do believe.

I have been thinking about that first day at the nets since Friday.  He simply said ‘follow me’ – I’d heard and seen enough to know that was not an invite to turn down.  Then he touched lepers and they walked away clean, he spat on the blind and they saw, he spoke to demons and they fled, he walked on Galilee’s waters and ordered the winds to be still, his words even raised the lifeless back to the the land of the living.  His authority stretched from the heavens to the depths of Sheol.

Then I saw him give himself to the Roman guards in the garden, I witnessed his submission to the unlawful Sanhedrin, watched as he took beatings and lies – my heart is as melted wax to think of it still. Silent and humble – he could have called down heaven’s fury for their insults, but under their insults, whips and nails he took furious condemnation.  His lifeless body, broken, bloodied, wrapped in cloth and hidden in a tomb.  I wept no less than I would have wept had my own father  died.

Now here he is in front of me: in a room locked to prevent surprise visitors, he stands and blesses us with peace.  His body healed but his skin yet wounded – unrecognisable from the tangled form I last saw. He walked from the tomb, sent the women, Magdalene most, to be the heralds of the great news.  Myself, in the tomb I believed him to be the Resurrection and the Life of which he spoke in Bethany – but to SEE him, to now share food with him, is beyond belief. 

I thought he would have been taken like Enoch or Elijah – flames taking Him to heaven ending his work. Now, it seems, his work has only just begun.  The Christ, and I say the Son of God – my Lord.

Passionate Voices – Sabbath Octet

Herod

Galilean fool. John the Baptiser spoke so well, was so compelling. He just looked and stared – well now his unseeing eyes will look at the darkness of the underworld. Him? King of the Jews? I am of David’s line – I am the King! It is so tiresome to have so many mini messiahs: death has put and end to his claims, though every time I close my eyes I see his eyes burning into mine. This too shall pass – I shall have Pontius come and bring the gorgeous Claudia, a feast in the Emperor’s honour; that will shake the foul stench and troublesome sight of the carpenter king from our minds.

 

Ciaphas

And so he lies, still and cold. He spoke of the resurrection and so I have pressured Pilate into guarding the tomb: those base fishermen and whores know a trick or two and so they will be prevented in whatever they are plotting.  The temple guard search the city for them but with so many, the most I can hope for is for Judas to return and seek a little more money for a few more kisses. This should be an end. Here on the Sabbath we rest, at Passover we rejoice at the deliverance of Adonai, I give thanks for this rest from trouble and the deliverance brought through the death of this northern messiah. 

 

Mary, Jesus’ Mother

I cannot sleep, my eyes bear no more tears, my heart will soon burst. He who I carried in my womb, birthed and cradled: I sang to him as Herod murdered the boys of Bethlehem, I nursed him and taught him. I washed his calloused hands in vinegar to harden the skin as Joseph shared the skills of woodwork.  I wept as we lost him in Jerusalem. I wept. I have lost him in Jerusalem again. I washed his skin again. I sang to him but he could not hear me. I cradled him but he felt no comfort. They carried him away, wrapped again in swaddling clothes never to be unwrapped, never to be woken. Oh to hear his voice again “why were you worried, did you not know I would be doing my Father’s work?” Why this womb oh Adonai? Why could you not have taken me as you took Joseph? This mother would rather have been buried than have to have seen her son so broken.  Where is the rescue that your promised? I listen, I strain, to hear the angel’s voice again.  I hear only grave silence.

 

Simon of Cyrene

I have washed and washed but the stains of his blood are still there. Rufus and Alexander say they see them not, but I feel it there: where his hand rested on my arm, where the cross beam laid heavy on my shoulders, where he leaned in and thanked and blessed me, his mouth to my cheek.  He thanked and blessed me – who was this bloody mess of a man? Why did he go to the cross? He is now gone. I came to Jerusalem for Passover and my life has been tainted in a way I did not invite.  I want to wash away the stain but the Jordan does not contain water enough to wash away the mark of his blood.

 

The Centurion

To guard a tomb – to stand and guard a tomb. The necropolis is not a place for the living: the dead need no guarding. Orders are orders, and Pilate is a butcher, so I will stand my watch and watch no one stirs from outside or within!  I stood my watch yesterday and saw this man’s life flow out of him.  We broke the legs of the other two and they soon drowned in their own fluids.  But he was already dead.  Yet another order – stick him in the side, I hesitated. This man was no criminal, he was gentle and kind as he died.  Now, as then, I think he was a son of the gods – this child of Heaven died like none I have seen die before; he cried out in Greek as he went to Hades – it is finished. Finished, like he had completed something – a hero of old completing a herculean task. Now he rests after his work, it is their Sabbath after all and I must guard him in his sleep.

 

Pontius Pilate

Ciaphas has made an enemy in his personal crusade. Rome is not so easily bent to personal agendas. This Jesus of Nazareth was innocent of the guile they accused him of – they stood outside my house so as not to defile themselves and they sent in a bloodied and innocent man for me to send to the cross. Bastard hypocrites! They will pay for making me spill this innocent’s blood – if they have no king but Caesar then I will make them beg and bow and serve him as their only king: they shall have what they cried for.  Rome shall undo this superstitious nation, that is why I taunted them with the plaque above the cross.  Claudia begged me to have nothing to do with him: warned by the gods in a dream. She has wept the whole night and is making sacrifices of doves on the altar of our family gods even now.  I cannot put him out out of my mind – his eyes, his manner, his peace, his determination.  I do not understand what happened yesterday but I do not wish to think on it any more.

 

John

I kept waiting, hoping that he would do or say something: that Heaven would strike down the accusers and murders – I thought it was coming when the sky blackened, but nothing came other than the end of his life. Even now, even now, my heart is still blackened and dark but I hope – he spoke of death and of a rising again.  It is impossible but he who woke Lazarus from death – can he not also turn death into life again?  He who walked on water and calmed seas, will he not… my heart is broken. These are useless words but I do not want to believe what my eyes saw. He is gone.

 

Mary Magdalene

He is alone. We saw where they laid him. I feel the darkness coming back. The voices whisper from the corners of my mind.  They have taken my Lord, they have hidden him away behind stone boulders and a Roman guard. They wrapped him in a crude cloth and did not anoint him as they should.  We must go and do it now. We cannot because the Sabbath law says rest. Where is the God of the Sabbath Law now? Is he resting?  Did he turn his eyes away yesterday?  Where is the smiter of the enemies of God’s People? Where is my Lord?  The voices say they are coming for me, that my protector is dead, my hope has gone.  I will go to him and cling to him and anoint him as he should be – maybe I should lay down my head in death too, maybe there I will find him again.  Where is the hope now?  He lies in the grave, alone, cold, waiting for a new anointing.

Passionate Voices – Friday Evening

Peter

He is dead. They came in the garden, we were sleeping, it all happened so fast: I tried to fight. He stopped me. Why did he stop me? He healed the man I wounded.  Why? Why did he stop me?

They took him, we ran, different ways: it was all confusion. The darkness hid us – scattered like panicked sheep. I followed the torch light, the noise of the baying crowd. Judas! Judas was with them. They congratulated him as they beat The Master. He disappeared into the shadows like the rest of us. I do not understand what was going on.  John came to my side in the darkness, he took my arm briefly, squeezed hard – tilted his head, indicated he was going on ahead.  I caught the back of the crowd, walked with the servants.

We came to a palace near the Temple Mount. I huddled with the crowd outside, cold and shocked I walked, without thinking, to the fire.  The light on my face must have drawn the recognition – a girl, a boy and a man – each pointed at me, their voices rising and the soldiers began to take note.  In the garden with a sword in my hand I was ready to fight and to die, here in the cold of the morning, in the dawning reality of what was happening, my heart failed me I swore at them and foreswore knowing him. The cock crow pierced the night, the light began to break the sky – my heart was severed by The Master’s words – he knew this would happen. At that moment he came out – dragged by the guards – he looked right at me. His eyes full of love and compassion, full  of peace and determination.  In that moment I wanted to cry out but I ran and hid and wept.  He knew my heart, always had known, and that look broke me.

I sat for hours, the day grew full around me but my heart was dark and dull, the rising sun did not pierce the cold: shivering I did not feel the hours pass.  I heard the baying of the crowd afresh, they drew near and there I saw what I could not believe – John and the Marys following a bloodied criminal carrying a cross. I saw him, recognised him, vomited and staggered. Sickened and terrified I followed at a distance.

He was lifted up and his life poured out of him.  I could not hear but I could see. Then there was no seeing, darkness came thick around us.  I left then and wandered Jerusalem until the darkness passed. I sit now here in the Temple Courts – there is no comfort here.  The Priests are distressed, the people fearful at the darkness and the earth trembling: my hope is dead.

I do not know what is next, don’t know where to go – I feel like I died with him. He is dead. I betrayed him. All I hoped to be true is dead. I am dead. There is no life in me. He is dead.  I did not want this, how did it happen? He is dead and I have died with him.

Passionate Voices – Thursday: afternoon

Mary Magdalene

I love Passover, the foods, the traditions, the remembrance of Adonai’s great rescue of His People.  The Master has delivered me from slavery, each Passover I remember this and give thanks. I have seen it so many times now, he speaks with authority and the demons grow still like tamed dogs and go, flee, like servants before an angry centurian.  Then the men and women wake as from sleep, free from the voices, the torment, the inner pains and accusations. I was no different. These Passover bitter herbs and this Charoset will sting then sweeten our mouths as we eat – just as the Master’s words sting and sweeten lives.  This Passover celebration will lift our spirits, remind us of Adonai’s sweetness in our bitterness and help us to see the hope of our Messiah, our Master, is close at hand.

 

Mary of Bethany, sister of Lazarus

He looks at me with hatred: Judas once so full of joy is now so full of bitterness.  He does not even bare my presence. The Master speaks tenderly and with compassion – he addresses me directly, he speaks to me of hope, of new life and a new way to live.  I see the way in which the Pharisees look, the Scribes shake their heads, the Sadducees laugh cruelly.  This week their looks are harsher and their words more hateful.  The Master seems not to notice, or does not show he does, and he presses on. Today we gather for the Passover meal, light the candles, drink the cups, eat the foods and remember the answers to the questions.  The Master will again draw us close and speak of hope and freedom, new beginnings and the goodness of Adonai in the land of the living.

 

Mary, Jesus’ mother

My son what troubles your mind?  Once again we find ourselves at a celebration, family and friends, traditions of our fathers and the greatness of the LORD of the Covenant.  Here my son, among your friends and family, find rest in the comfort of the story of His rescue of our people.  You speak of death and destruction, of the end of all things and your mother’s heart is broken, my eyes are full of tears.  You my son are not like other men, your call is as special as your birth – you are The Messiah, your time is coming.  I do not understand your words, I draw back at how you live, I fear for your future; but tonight, let us celebrate the better times of the past and put all thoughts of tomorrow from our minds.

 

Claudia Procula Pilatia

The gods be praised it is a new day. Morpheus troubled me last night with visions of a tormentor. He stood silent and his eyes burned into my soul. He looked like one of these Jews who so often comes before my husband: he was bloodied and beaten, surrounded by gaurds.  He was a condemned criminal and yet he was my judge. I pleased with him for clemency but his silent stare accused me and condemned me. My husband came and stood in the way, blood poured like water from his hands, the eyes of the Jew condemned us both. The crowd began to roar and grew up like the waves of the ocean on the shore.  The wave crashed onto me and my husband and the Jew was lifted up above us and opened his mouth but no sound came forth. His eyes look into mine and I was undone.  I woke screaming and screaming until the guards rushed into my room with my maids.  I am glad it was just a vision of the night but even in the brightness of this spring day, his eyes still haunt me and I am troubled still.

Passionate Voices – Thursday Morning

Peter

It seems it is beginning. We are to go and meet and then follow ‘a man carrying a jar of water’ and he will show us where we are to celebrate Passover. This is the perfect time. Today, here, as we look to the liberation of our Fathers we will prepare the liberation of our people. The Master is the Messiah, my sword is ready. He once said that he would teach us to catch people – now we must net the Romans and throw them back into the unclean waters out of which they came. Jesus has taught me how to live and given me a life worth living – now, if I must I will die with him, die for him.

 

John

He sends us to prepare Passover – there will be a lot of walking this day. After we’ve discovered the place through secret meetings and code words, I will come and collect the Marys and Salome and the other women and they will buy and prepare the food; Peter and I will then have much to do just getting everything ready. It all takes so much longer when the streets are too full and we must wait for so long. But I think the real waiting is almost over. The Master speaks of death, his face is set and his tone is full of darkness. It is most confusing to see the man, whose words have lifted hearts and raised the dead, so full of sorrow and seriousness. He has always laughed, but there is so much seriousness in his tone. Here now is the man of whom he spoke – what sort of man collects water with the women? – but we will follow this man because The Master told us. And so this Passover preparation begins

 

Judas

So this is the day. We will eat Passover a day early in Jerusalem. He says we will understand more in the morning – I no longer understand anything he does or says. He has spent much of the last few days attacking the leaders and speaking in riddles and children’s stories. Today I will lead the leaders to stopping this madness – they will take him in hand and unravel this lunacy. We call him The Master, some whisper Messiah, and he is hell bent on conflict and disaster. He speaks of death and rising from the grave, he preaches the destruction of the Temple, he wastes riches and pours scorn on the rich. There is nothing more to be done than to hand him over to the authorities – then these spineless fishermen will be scattered, the women will flee and this whole sad sorry mess will be undone and I will walk away with at least a little money to redeem this disastrous three years.

Passionate Voices – Wednesday

Ciaphas

I thank you Adonai

You made me not a Gentile,

You made me not a woman,

You made me not a slave:

All Praise to You

Master of the Universe

God of our Father’s

LORD of your people.

This carpenter rabbi, this northern fool, is bringing us to ruin. The people sang to him as he came to Jerusalem, proclaiming him king, King of Israel. He comes here, to the Holy Hill, and pulls down the traders’ stalls and calls for the Temple to be destroyed. He speaks with authority and claims that which cannot be his, he performs tricks and wins the witless. His followers: fishermen, traitors, zealots and the worst of women. I shudder to think of how popular he is with the crowds.  The people flock to him.  We have tried to stop him, silence him, remove him.  He is full of evil and uses wicked words to confound the scribes and the scholars, he tells stories to reinterpret Holy Scripture and scolds the Pharisees and even the Sadducees.  He has even defied me.  There is much to be lost is this man is allowed to walk without being tripped and stopped.  If only a bandit would slit his throat, he hides in the hills but he seems charmed and protected by some power not of this earth.

The people, oh the people, they will sing for anyone they think will save them from the brutalities of Rome and yet I think we must turn the very machinery of hatred against this man in order to be rid of him.  Ironically those who sang his praise have sealed his fate. King of the Jews is he? Pilate will be most interested to hear that song.

Today, Praise to the LORD, Judas, one of his ‘disciples’ have come to us. He is of like mind to us, or he is of a weak mind, and will deliver the Nazarene to our hands. Judas’ high minded motivation found its measure in 30 pieces of silver – he is paid and he will find us at the right time, when our ‘friend’ comes into the confines of Jerusalem at night.  They we can act without the crowd getting too involved.  I will inform the Sanhedrin to be ready to meet, at least those who will lean at my direction, and we will send this man to the God he claims to serve, for justice and for judgement.  It is better than this one man die than for the many to perish; this carpenter rabbi, this northern fool, is indeed bringing us to ruin and so we must put him to ruination.

Passionate Voices – Tuesday

Mary Magdalene

He walks to Jerusalem today – no crowds, no songs, no Temple protests.  We walk wondering what the day will bring.  I hear the whispers from the crowds, see their looks.  In the Temple the men go through to the inner courts, we wait with the Greeks in the outer area.  One of the sellers who had been disturbed yesterday walks past, she spits on me, “whore! Galilean filth!” she hisses under her breath.  Her words cut deeply as she moved on to her own dishonourable trade.  “Wrong Mary I want to say – not a whore, just demon possessed in the past: abused, rejected, feared, loathed; but not a whore.”  My eyes catch Mary, the other Mary, looking at me. She mouths ‘sorry’, I smile, tears fall from my eyes and hers.  The Master has spoken of harsh words and rejection, of pain and persecution.  Mary comes and kisses my cheek and wipes away the tears with her own freshly wet hands.  We sit close, comforting each other with our silent fellowship. We know that those old labels, those hurtful words, no longer have any power. ‘ex-whore’ ‘ex-demon filled’ actually – now, child of God Our Father.  The Master’s words promise cleansing and healing and freedom.  I smile and still the tears come and they wash away the fear and the shame, but only because of Him. 

I hear his voice coming from the inner courts – clear, accented, authoritative.  He speaks of things lost and things found, of coming judgement and the end of all things.  I have been found, by Him – I was once lost in darkness; He has shone like a light which no darkness can extinguish.  In the coming days with Him at the fore I will fear no words of condemnation.  More tears, Mary draws closer her arm pressing into mine, we sit side my side, we listen, we wait – a new day will soon dawn; we will walk with Him, wherever it takes us.

Passionate Voices – Monday

Andrew

Jerusalem at Passover, over crowded, under resourced and really cold. The dew is heavy in the mornings, not much of this wood is good for burning. Staying outside the city makes sense, but it is not very convenient.  Though after yesterday it more than makes sense, it is essential.  When he lifted the tables and shouted at the sellers it looked like he was a madman – I have seen him angry before, when a demon invades a life, or when the Pharisees speak of rules and once when we pushed the children away.  But not anger like this. He looked like crazy Ezekiel – shouting and chasing and and whipping and crying, the Temple moved from normal noise to silence through the gateway of his anger. There was shock and then there was anger at him.  I do not understand what he did, why he did it, or what he did it for.  It is just making the tension worse – he’s walked away from trouble before: this time it feel different. Hopefully we’ll get through this week unscathed.

Peter

I could not sleep last night. This is so exciting. He walks from a procession of people proclaiming him king and storms into the Temple to purify it from the filth of traders and marketers.  Is this the beginning of the end of Roman rule?  He IS the Messiah, he has had us keep it quiet, he has spoken in riddles and mysteries but now, he is about to act. I know it, there is a different look in his eyes, a different tone in his voice.  I will be ready; we have waited for these days.  My sword will stand with others and we will once again have a free Israel as in Great David’s days – from the sea to the Jordan, from Egypt to Assryria we will be free.  He will become the great Shepherd King and under the shadow of his rule we will know peace and prosperity: he has spoken of death but there is a long time and much to be acheived before then.  It is no wonder, with so much happening, that I could not sleep last night.

John

The master seems so tired, so preoccupied – his gaze seems to be somewhere else, just around the corner.  The others are caught up in the moment of parades and protests but there is a tone in his voice, a look in his eye, that concerns me.  It has always been there, when he asked us to follow him it was always TO somewhere: it is where he is leading that is the mystery and the concern. He looks so tired, so preoccupied – and I don’t know where this will lead, but I do not think it will lead where I want to go.

Market Seller

He is a lunatic, this Nazarene; he came shouting and cursing, he turned over the tables of the holy sellers, his words and actions made no sense but they brought shock and confusion.  He is a wicked man I think, he has no respect for the Temple or for God.  He is a lunatic – after all he is from Galilee.

 

When Jesus entered the temple courts, he began to drive out those who were selling. “It is written,” he said to them, “‘My house will be a house of prayer’; but you have made it ‘a den of robbers.’

Luke 19:45-46

Passionate Voices – Sunday, Jerusalem

Bethphage Man

Can a man not live in peace?  The Romans come and take what they like, the bandits come at night and steal, the Zealots tell me I must share what I have if my country is to be free and they mean that I must give what they want if I want to live.  Then two men come and untie my beasts without saying anything.  I ask, politely, OH SO POLITELY, if I might know what they are doing.  “The LORD needs it”. Only they did not seem like Pharisees, and they were not Sadducees – they could not sacrifice it – I could not make them out.  They said it just the once, their words like a quote they stared at me and waited. I heard myself speak “then take it”, puzzled by my own willingness but struck by their peacefulness.  They walked off, I do not know where, with my beasts.  Can a man not live in peace?

 

Jerusalem Woman

The song travelled before the crowd,

Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the king of Israel!

My heart sank in fear. If the Romans hear this, that butcher Pilate will not hesitate, this passover will surpass all others in the bloodshed.  My children, my family, my people, will not take another day of bloodshed.

I waited to see the latest hero of the Zealots, this latest King of Israel.  I almost laughed.  Who is this of whom they sing, I asked the breadseller. He looked, “this is the Nazarene, the preacher, the one they say raised Lazarus of Bethany from the dead”.

This little man in dirty clothes, surrounded by fishermen and whores – if He is the Son of David who has come to deliver God’s people, then God help us all: he could not raise an army if he tried. God bless this man indeed, he is destined for the cross, listen to me – the words of this song will be the pathway to his grave and the crowd that loves him now will run from him as soon as they see he offers them nothing that they want.

 

Jerusalem Pharisees

He comes on a donkey! A donkey! This sign is lost upon the Romans, the crowds see nothing but someone to sing to. This bastard carpenter who thinks himself a teacher and miracle worker presents himself as the King of Peace.  He spreads lies, he fools the crowds, he confuses the people and he defies The Law and NOW he rides into Jerusalem on a donkey.  He must be stopped. Our leaders told him to quieten the crowd and he said the stones would cry out.  His mind has gone or his heart belongs to the Evil One.  We must act before he brings war to our streets, Pilate will be merciless.  This king of peace will destroy all we hold dear; we must stop him. What will he do to us, after all, he comes riding on a donkey?

 

After Jesus had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. ²⁹ As he approached Bethphage and Bethany at the hill called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples, saying to them, ³⁰ “Go to the village ahead of you, and as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. ³¹ If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ say, ‘The Lord needs it.’”

Those who were sent ahead went and found it just as he had told them. ³³ As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They replied, “The Lord needs it.” They brought it to Jesus, threw their cloaks on the colt and put Jesus on it. ³⁶ As he went along, people spread their cloaks on the road.

When he came near the place where the road goes down the Mount of Olives, the whole crowd of disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen:

“Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” “Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!”

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples!”

“I tell you,” he replied, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”

As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes. The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you and hem you in on every side. They will dash you to the ground, you and the children within your walls. They will not leave one stone on another, because you did not recognize the time of God’s coming to you.”

Luke 19:28-44

Passionate Voices - Judas: Synagogue, Sabbath before Passover

שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵינוּ יְהוָה אֶחָד

Hear O Israel
The LORD our GOD
The LORD is One


I stand here among the brothers, the men of Israel crowded in this full to bursting house of prayer. We begin to gather for Passover and here I confess hatred, O Adonai.  I hate him.  He stands before me head bowed as The Torah is read. The perfect Jew, the untaught Rabbi, and yet last evening he sat as a woman poured ointment over his feet, and publicly wept and caressed him.  He defended her, he scolded my concern for her wastefulness and made some self aggrandising declaration about his death; about how the poor are more permanent than him. Hypocrite!

I loved him once; loved his compassion and his passion, his powerful words and his amazing acts.  I thought they were signs of the Messiah – but he turned on the Pharisees and turned to the prostitutes and liars, away from the pure to the filth.  He has turned away the rich and the important and called the permanent poor to his side.  He gave me the purse  to care for, I thought it was a sign of trust and inclusion but not once has he called me aside with Peter and the others.

All that I loved now repulses me. This must come to an end: he must be stopped before he damages himself or God’s People.

passionate voices – Friday: a week to go

Martha

He comes here again. He comes in very different days. The last he came here I went rushing to meet him, through tears and in confusion. He comes now, I will not rush to meet him; I stand here with my stove and pots and dishes and I will make him a feast. These hands that dressed my brothers corpse, dressing vegetables and massaging spices into meat.  Eyes that wept then, now streaming because of the onions. He stopped by tears then with words of hope and power. My brother stepped from the grave at his call and my Lord spoke life into my heart: resurrection and the life.  I believe him. I will ready the feast. My brother readies himself, my sister (oh my sister), is busy doing everything not needed. We are changed by Him. He comes here again. I am glad.

 

Mary

They will be so angry, so shocked. This ointment, my dowry, worth more than its own weight in gold. His feet, I saw his feet when he last came here. I fell there, in the midst of tears and grief, it is most ridiculous, but I saw them, cracked, dry, broken, sore. He travels so far, he walks too often. His words comfort the crowds, his words raise the dead, and His own feet are broken. It is not my fate to marry, so why should I save the riches of this ointment? If I do not pour it out on him this jar will fester and wait until my death, poured out on me, wasted on my lifeless shell.  Tonight, I will break it on his broken feet. He gave me back my brother, he spoke words of life and power, He defended me from Martha’s scolding: my refuge, my hope. This ointment could not be better spent than on his tired feet, his broken body. He will at least be ready for the next stage of his journey. They will be so angry, so shocked, but in this I will show our love for Him.

 

Lazarus

Once when I was a boy, I woke in my uncle’s house.  I did not know where I was, had no idea.  Before I opened my eyes, the smells and sounds were not of home, and when I did this strange rooftop did not give way to the sight of the Temple. I cried out, Martha soon came with soothing words. My sister who had mothered me so long.  So it was that day I heard the Master call me, I woke in confusion; ‘come out’ and I was all too glad to stumble forward from dank darkness and, thought I did not know it then, death. Martha came and now Mary too – weeping with joy and the remnants of sorrow. “Unbind him” he shouted and I have been free ever since. Now He comes and tonight there will be no mourning, though the times are dark and many seek him for no good, here in my home we will honour Him whose words are life and light. I will sit with Him and listen with open ears and a glad heart, a beating heart.  Next to the seat of honour, I will sit and give all honour to Him to whom I owe my life.

 

Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. Then Mary took about a half a litre of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

John 12:1-2

Imagine This

Early in my training as a preacher I was warned off ‘flights of fancy’ and ‘imagination’.  It was well intentioned – we don’t want to read into silence or the gaps of Scripture, we don’t want to add detail where there is none in Scripture.  We don’t want to seek to put in that which is not there intentionally. Preachers have licence to preach God’s Word faithfully and powerfully but not to change it’s tone, content or focus.

But it made me a dull speaker – illustration became laboured, teaching dry.

I had a conversation yesterday which reminded me of why imagination (correctly constrained) is helpful in Scriptural engagement.  Imagination enables us to step into the world of the original recipients of God’s Word and hear what they heard and feel the impact and importance of the that Word in it’s original context.  Imagination is somewhat a bridge from the past to the here and now.

So, for the next week – this blog will imagine this… passionate voices.  Perspectives (constrained by the text) from those around the edges of Jesus deliberate, determined and glorious walk to the cross and out of the tomb.  It is a bit of a personal project that I would value feedback on – because I want to be a better preacher, communicator and proclaimer of God’s Word today.

the old is new today

Sitting with students talking about the evening meeting they said, “We just wanted to update the Passover, to make it relevant today.” 

I was torn. Their desire was to make the old resonate, to make sense, to hit with power and to touch the reality.  That desire was to be encouraged, affirmed and developed.  This generation needs to feel and know the power of the Old renewed.  Yet, the attempt to ‘update’ the old – as though it had become out-dated and impotent – was an unwitting step too far, it is a step away in trying to step forward.

The power of the Old (in this case, the power of the central and defining story of rescue and redemption in the Old Testament) is precisely in the retelling as it stands, faithfully communicating the details of God’s faithfulness and glory.  This old, old, story is new today because it is untold and largley unknown.

As we told the story of Passover that night, people listened and felt the power of the connection to the other old story – that of Jesus’ final meal before His arrest and of how we renewed and fulfilled the story of Passover to become the story of The Cross and Resurrection: the defining story of rescue and redemption in history.

The old is to be renewed in each generation: the stories retold so that they maybe worn new in clothing the hearts and minds of men and women who hope in God’s rich and great Promise.

I was no different as a student, I thought somehow we needed to update the old to be relevant in the new.  20 years on I saw in that gathering of leaders the desire to grow, the longing to communicate and the very hope of the old renewed in each generation: I saw the Hope of Jesus working it’s way out in their fragility and their desire for faithfulness in making Christ known.

Such is the work of reaching students for Christ and changing students for life.