Digging

I always feel I should dig on Holy Saturday, dig good dark earth, not just with the spade but with my hands. I need to feel the soil, smell its goodness, see its darkness. On this liminal day, the between time, when flesh has been taken down from cross and lies resting in the cool of the earth, when there is no hint of a future, I need to return to the earth. This life-giving earth in which we plant the bodies of those we love somehow draws me. In L’Aquila today they planted 228 new bodies in their garden – children and strong men, women and grandmothers. What hope on this day?

I dig to be close to that dark cruel earth, and that darkness, to discover something warm, some hint of life to come.

Dig for victory?

Dig is desperation (like those who search for earthquake victims?

Dig simply because it takes my mind of darker things (like Peter fishing)?

Dig ……. daring to find what I dare not hope for.

It rained

As a walked to church it rained - it really rained! And I hated the rain. The church was welcoming enough, my church, my people, my space, space to be quiet on Good Friday. And then he came and sat next to me. I did not notice it as first, at first he was just an unfamiliar disciple. But the stench was undeniable, unremitting, making every moment of my quiet reflection uncomfortable, regretted. Could I not have prayed at home? Then it struck me, and it hurt. Jesus, to whom he was also a stranger, died for him, this man sitting quietly next to me. While I wanted to run away from an excess of stale alcohol, Jesus died. For a friend, one might die, for a young women with potential and her life in front of her, yes perhaps, but ........

Jesus did!

We left church together and the rain was ligher then.

Confused over China

Tomorrow, 9 April, as many of us around the world recall the arrest of Jesus of Nazareth and his subsequent trial before Herod, the people and Pilot, Shi Weihan (right) will face the People’s Court of Haidan District, Beijing, China. Shi is just the last of a whole chain of Christian leaders in China to find themselves in court - his crime, the printing of Christian books without government permissions. I will be praying for Shi's release (he has been in prison since March last year) while I share a 'last supper' with my friends in Cowley, but I will also be wrestling with confusion. Visiting China two years ago I began to understand how important this nation is for us all. Not only is every fifth person in the world Chinese, and their economy one of the strongest, but it is a melting pot of creative religious debate in which Christians are increasingly playing their part. As one Christian stands trial, another is advising Party officials, and a third is having a serious impact on the intellectual community in the universities. Persecution and prophetic leadership are all there, confused, and yet vibrant. The disciples were somewhat confused on that evening in Gethsemene but they were also the 'future' - the ones to be watched. China? I know which nation I'm watching, and its not the US!

Pope Viewing

As a bookoholic with little prospect of finding a cure I am often sent tempting offers from a number of internet booksellers. Today's range of tempting offers included "What to wear to see the pope". Looking at the book's cover I wondered whether they had checked my gender before mailing me! Apparently, its a novel about a neurotic Belgian Catholic whose neuroses over the details of life threaten to destroy the really important - like her husband and family. I have no intention of reading the book so the rest must remain mystery, but it did give me a good reminder mid-way through Holy Week that there are greater things to think about than catching up with the washing and making sure I have some fuel in the car. Christians are good at neurosis (don't talk to me about keeping the hymn books straight!) but are we just as good at the world transforming? Like a God who died? And? (Oh, if you need the book, its going on Amazon for £1)

Palm Sunday

The procession was long and excited, snaking its way up the hill until, reaching the 1,900ft. summit of Hartside Pass we saw the sparkling hills of Lakeland – Ullswater reflecting the afternoon sun. The procession was colourful, noisy and fired up with adrenalin. Bent forward in the saddle, the driver of the bike that had hugged the back of my car on the last bent, let out the throttle and with a flash of blue in my peripheral vision he was gone. The other procession was very different – eleven of us huddled in coats walked all 120 meters from the Market Cross to St. Augustine’s. A shot of adrenalin here might have helped the hymn we sang on our way, between caught breaths – even the slight incline is a struggle for us older folk. Reaching the relative calm of the M6 this afternoon I found myself reflecting on my two processions of Palm Sunday. I was tempted to see Christ in the saddle of a BMW, wind in hair (no crash helmets in AD30!) and to dismiss the ‘remnant’ of Alston parish and our half hearted waving of palms. But that’s too easy. All those years ago Jesus entered the city on festival day with excited crowds, adrenalin and noise, but his closest attention was Thomas and Judas, Bartholomew and James – a small band struggling to understand. Hey, I’m glad I joined both processions today.