Preferring Nothing to Christ

Mark 16:9-15

There’s shift in tone in today’s Gospel text. After the intimacy of Mary’s encounter at the tomb with Jesus and then the breakfast on the seashore, today’s Gospel shifts our focus. It reads as a recap of themes we’ve heard during the week: refusal of the disciples to believe, the journey of the two disciples and Jesus making himself known ‘at table.’ The first hearers of this Gospel will have been challenged by the theme of disbelief in these verses. Faith in the resurrection wasn’t as solid as we might imagine. Those first hearers had their commitment tested.

‘And he said to them, ‘Go out to the whole world; proclaim the Good News to all creation.’

This last verse of today’s text echoes the beginning of Mark’s Gospel; ‘Repent and believe the Good News.’ Things have come full circle. To believe in the Good News means to believe in the resurrection. Implicit in this believe is a call evangelise in word and deed. We are to be Christ’s resurrected life for the world.

How can you live the resurrection today?

John 21:1-14

Just after my A levels I was able to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Our visit to the Sea of Tiberias stands out for me as a time of grace. In what was a fairly packed itinerary, there was suddenly time to sit and watch the water. It was a relief after the noise and heat of Jerusalem.

When the disciples decide to go fishing they are going back to the thing that they know best. They’ll either catch something or they won’t. I imagine that there was a certain relief in knowing this. But this turns out to be no ordinary fishing trip. First of all, the disciples take fishing advice from a stranger and then he cooks for them.

With his invitation of breakfast Jesus has made another space for intimacy with his closest followers. I like to imagine that they linger over this breakfast and perhaps watch as the morning light catches the water. There is such healing in doing something normal with friends.

Picture yourself in this scene. What do you notice? How do you feel?

Luke 24:35-48

Today’s Gospel invites us to stand with the disciples as Jesus appears among them. They are startled and Jesus reassures them with his greeting of ‘Peace be with you.’ Understandably they think he is a ghost and he reassures them again: ‘Touch me and see for yourselves.’

If I imagine myself among the disciples I think I probably would have held back a little and waited to see if one of the other disciples did actually move forward and touch him. This is an intimate moment. Jesus doesn’t say, ‘Don’t get too close. This is my glorified body. Be careful.’ No, he wants his disciples to be close enough to touch him.

I’ve often been asked about death and resurrection and what happens when we die. My answer is always the same: Jesus is our model. He appears in flesh and blood. His body still bears the scars of his death. He can eat. He can cook. But he isn’t recognisable at first. There is something different about him.

Imagine Jesus saying to you; ‘Touch me and see for yourself.’

How do you respond?

Luke 24:13-35

Luke paints the picture of the disciples at the end of an emotional journey where crucifixion has dashed their hopes. As they walk they talk to each other. There is a sense in which the journey is a time of healing as the disciples verbalise the experiences of the past days. A stranger joins them. Rather than intimidating, the presence of the stranger deepens the process as, for his benefit, they re-tell the story. With each step of the journey they are in fact moving closer towards Christ. We might imagine that their pace quickens as they talk about the things that they hold most dear.

‘Did not our hearts burn within us as he talked to us on the road and explained the Scriptures to us?’

This is one of my favourite lines from the story. The disciples have felt at the core of their being the power of God’s word. I would love to swap places with them and hear Jesus explain the Scriptures.

Are there verses of Scripture which make your heart burn within you?

Easter Tuesday

John 20:11-18

‘Woman, why are you weeping?’

‘Oh, it’s okay, don’t cry.’ It’s surprising how often as I primary teacher I was urging children not to cry. It seems to be one of the first things you say to a child to reassure them when something upsetting has happened. First you try to get them to stop crying and then you ask what is the matter.

In the space of just a few verses of Scripture Mary Magdalene has been asked twice why she is weeping. I like to imagine that both the angels and Jesus are using a gentle tone here and not a harsh one. Both times Mary is given the space to answer. From our vantage point the reason for her crying is so legitimate and so understandable. Then comes the moment of recognition as Jesus speaks her name. Did those tears dry instantly as she heard her name? Did she take a breath and feel her heart expand a little?

Nowadays we understand much more about the grief process. Tears are not a sign of weakness but of love.

How can you show your love for others today?

Matthew 28: 8-15

Filled with awe and great joy the women came quickly away from the tomb and ran to tell the disciples.

When I read the Gospel text for today it is the word ‘ran’ which leaps out at me. We hear it several times at our Easter Vigil, in John’s account of the resurrection. There we have the rather charming details of who ran faster and got to the tomb first.

I can’t remember the last time I had to run anywhere. Much of my life takes place at a fairly sedate pace. The pattern of the monastic day means that you are more or less sure of what is coming next and you organise yourself accordingly.

I probably most associate running with being a child and being eager to get somewhere or just running for the sheer pleasure of it. As a child there’s energy, freedom and excitement all mixed together as you run.

The women, we are told, are ‘filled with awe and joy’. Their reaction is immediate and heartfelt: they run to share the news, only to encounter Jesus himself along the way. It’s love which powers their running. When Jesus says “Do not be afraid,” he is offering both comfort and a call to action, reminding us that encountering the risen Christ is not the end of the journey, but the beginning of a mission—to go, to tell, to witness.

Can you picture yourself running to tell the news of the resurrection?
Can you imagine the love that powers you?

John 20:1-9

I’ve always loved the early morning. I was usually the first up at home and loved to be in school extra early. There is something about the quiet and the dark that prepares me for the day. Often in the morning I find that my heart and my mind have found a solution to a problem or that a difficulty from the day before doesn’t look quite so bad. Neuroscientists tell us that our cortisol levels are raised in the morning, so things really do look and feel much better.

I can easily picture myself with Mary Magdalene, having awoken from a light sleep and wanting to be at the place where Jesus was laid. I can picture myself standing by the entrance to the tomb and waiting a while before I can look right in. I imagine the dark as a kind of protection for the confusion that Mary feels.

What begins in darkness for Mary ends in dawn and recognition as Jesus speaks her name. This moment of encounter always makes my heart beat faster. Don’t we all want someone to say our name and to know us as we truly are? Mary’s exclamation of ‘Rabbuni’ is our cry of recognition too.

Where do you see the face of the Risen Christ?

A Sonnet for Mary Magdalene

Men called you light so as to load you down,
And burden you with their own weight of sin,
A woman forced to cover and contain
Those seven devils sent by Everyman.
But one man set you free and took your part
One man knew and loved you to the core
The broken alabaster of your heart
Revealed to Him alone a hidden door,
Into a garden where the fountain sealed,
Could flow at last for him in healing tears,
Till, in another garden, he revealed
The perfect Love that cast out all your fears,
And quickened you with loves own sway and swing,
As light and lovely as the news you bring.

Malcolm Guite

Holy Saturday is often spoken about as a day of ‘emptiness and numbness’. On one level this is true, but since entering the monastery I have discovered another dimension. On a day when you could feel out of sorts and not quite know what to do the for best, the framework of the monastic liturgy boundaries time and space for me. We begin the day with Office of Readings and listen to a text from the Lamentations of the Prophet Jeremiah. A cantor sings the descant line and the melody is played on a tenor recorder. It is a hauntingly beautiful combination. Every word is poignant.

‘The favours of the Lord are not all past,
nor his kindnesses exhausted;
every morning they are renewed;
‘My portion is the Lord’ says my soul,
‘and so I will hope in him.’

‘The Lord is good to those who trust him,
to the soul that searches for him.
It is good to wait in silence
for the Lord to save.‘

There’s tremendous comfort in knowing that the Lord’s kindnesses are not exhausted. There’s hope too in the knowledge that each day God’s love and faithfulness for each of us is renewed.

Can you bring to mind people in your own life who most need to hear these words?

Sometimes in the face of great sorrow and hardship all we can do is ‘wait in silence for the Lord to save.’

Can you pray these verses for someone you know to be suffering great hardship? Can you be the one who waits in silence with them?

Hebrews 4:14-16, 5:7-9

Every piece of text in the Good Friday liturgy is heavy with meaning. Pieces of scripture that I may have heard throughout the year have a whole new resonance today. I found it hard to pick just one text. I settled on the text from Hebrews. In a series of fairly complicated chapters the writer wants us to understand that Jesus is our model. It’s that simple. The way in which Jesus lived, loved and worked is our model.

The writer of Hebrews doesn’t sugar coat things. Jesus learns to obey through suffering. This may not sit easily with us. My own instinct is usually to avoid suffering. I wouldn’t naturally associate this with a growth in obedience. It is usually after the event that I look at a period of suffering as a time of growth. Life in the monastery has taught that obedience is much more than keeping rules. It’s a type of deep listening where you confront your true self.

Commentators tell us that the writer of Hebrews wants to suggest that Jesus learnt and developed during his life, just like us. On the cross Jesus’ learning is complete and he knows himself as Son. His whole life has pointed to this moment of obedience.

What have you learnt during Lent ?

Exodus 12:1-8,11-14
John 13:1-15

Each year I am stuck by how much the liturgy invites us to engage our senses during Holy Week. We wave a palm branch, we hear the story of the anointing and can imagine the smell of the perfume filling the house, we picture the silver coins of betrayal and the darkness of the night as Judas leaves the Last Supper. When we reach Maundy Thursday we are invited to one of the most intimate rituals in our liturgical year. It’s a ritual with an in-built vulnerability.

In his book Healing Wounds, Bishop Erik Varden quotes from Confessions of a Chiropodist, by Katja Oskamp on the vulnerability and shame people feel on revealing their feet to another:
‘Whether they’re labourers from a building site or vain fellows covered in tattoos, whether they’re pregnant or old ladies, spiritual low-flyers or academics, all apologise, the first time they remove socks and shoes, for their feet.’

So in the liturgy that marks the beginning of the most solemn three days of our liturgical year the Church invites us to a place of vulnerability. Bowls, jugs, water, feet, a kiss: here we see our servant King. Here Jesus embodies the kingdom. Every value is reversed. In one verse of Scripture we see the power of the Incarnation;

‘He got up from table, removed his outer garment and, taking a towel, wrapped it round his waist; he then poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel he was wearing’

Jesus shows us love in action:

got up,
removed,
taking,
wrapped,
poured,
wash,
wiped.

The ritual of foot-washing always reminds me that there is a two-way dynamic of grace. There is the grace of the one who serves and the grace of the one who accepts the service. Our world needs both.

Can you have the grace both to serve and be served?