If you were not risen

If you were not risen,
Lord Christ, to whom would we go
to discover a radiance
of the face of God?

If you were not risen,
we would not be together
seeking your communion.
We would not find in your presence
forgiveness,
wellspring of a new beginning.

If you were not risen,
where would we draw the energy
for following you
right to the end of our existence,
for choosing you again and anew?

Brother Roger of Taize
The Book of a Thousand Prayers

Jesus dies on the cross

A few hours more,
A few minutes more,
A few instants more.
For thirty-three years it has been going on.
For thirty-three years you have lived fully minute after minute.
You can no longer escape, now; you are there, at the end of your life, at the end of your road.
You are at the last extremity, at the edge of a precipice.
You must take the last step.
The last step of love,
The last step of life that ends in death.

You hesitate.
Three hours are long, three hours of agony;
Longer than three years of life,
Longer than thirty years of life.

You must decide, Lord, all is ready around you.
You are there, motionless, on your Cross.
You have renounced all activity other than embracing these crossed planks for which you were made,
And yet, there is still life in your nailed body.
Let mortal flesh die, and make way for eternity.
Now, life slips from each limb, one by one, finding refuge in his still beating heart.
Immeasurable heart,
Overflowing heart
Heart heavy as the world, the world of sins and miseries that it bears.

Lord, one more effort.
Mankind is there, waiting unknowingly for the cry of its Saviour.
Your brothers are there; they need you.
Your Father bends over you, already holding out his arms.
Lord, save us,
Save us.

See.
He has taken his heavy heart,
And,
Slowly,
Laborioiously,
Alone between heaven and earth,
In the awesome night,
With passionate love,
He has gathered his life,
He has gathered the sin of the world,
And in a cry,
He has given all.
‘Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit.’

Christ has just died for us.

Lord, help me to die for you.
Help me to die for them.

Michel Quoist
Prayers of Life

Spring Sonnet

neil-formakin-april-08-041-1

The lilac bush puts forth its purple spikes
and pink-tipped blossom decks the apple tree,
while on the ground the bright-faced primrose likes
to highlight shaded violet’s modesty;
and on the cherrybough full-throated thrush
sings out in answer to the cuckoo’s call,
and over all the earth the first fair flush
of Spring unfolds its beauty to enthral.
In full accord but by more wondrous means
the Holy Spirit quickens all that lives
and like Sprin’s sun on many-shaded greens
new life to people’s varied nature gives.
And as Spring blooms are rendered safe from frost
may God save us from sin, else we are lost.

Cyril Lloyd
from The Lion Christian Poetry Collection

Moulding

inellan stones

Like an ocean wave
His compassion cascades,
In shimmering showers,
Over burdens seeming
Immutable and unending
Slowly but surely
Waters ceaseless flow
Reveals on sun warmed rocks
A place where fragrance pervades
And sweet repose is found.

From Praying Together edited by Diocese of Brechin Spirituality and Worship Group