It’s Friday ….

Standard

f2478_110

These final days of Holy Week are always a special time for me as we contemplate the powers and forces overcome by Jesus on the cross …. there will be time on Sunday to celebrate, but today on Good Friday it’s important to hold onto the pain, the sadness, the cruelty, the betrayal that put Jesus on the cross. Important because, without experiencing the depths of the pain, the victory that has been won is at risk of being cheapened.

We took the decision last week to still run the food bank today despite (or in some ways because) it’s Good Friday, the need for food and especially for the love and grace we try to offer is highlighted not diminished by the crucifixion and passion narrative, we attempt to act as servants who figuratively “wash the feet” of those who come to us for support, without judgement. Some of the folk who came joined in our Good Friday service, others took Palm crosses and prayers, and there was the usual mixture of emotions, including sadness, anger, anxiety and despair. The President and Vice-President of the Methodist Conference, Roger Walton and Rachel Lampard, have both spoken about confidence, suffering and hope in this year’s Easter Message. They ask:

“…Do we sometimes race over the reflection of holy week and the pain of Good Friday, in order to reach the joy of Easter?…”

and go on to say:

“…The Christian vocation means feeling and facing the suffering and injustice of the world, alongside God, until new creation is complete. Staying with suffering and tackling injustice is no easy option but is where Christian confidence takes us…”

 

So on this Good Friday, we hold onto the pain and the suffering, the hurt and injustice, because it matters – the powers and forces that put Jesus on the cross are still part of our world today, and reflected (arguably more than on any other day in the church calendar) today. So we hold on to those feelings – we watch and we wait – and we hold onto hope, even when it seems lost. One of my favourite reflections on Good Friday is this one from SM Lockridge, placing us right in the midst of the pain and the sadness:

It’s Friday
Jesus is praying
Peter’s a sleeping
Judas is betraying
But Sunday’s comin’

It’s Friday
Pilate’s struggling
The council is conspiring
The crowd is vilifying
They don’t even know
That Sunday’s comin’

It’s Friday
The disciples are running
Like sheep without a shepherd
Mary’s crying
Peter is denying
But they don’t know
That Sunday’s a comin’

It’s Friday
The Romans beat my Jesus
They robe him in scarlet
They crown him with thorns
But they don’t know
That Sunday’s comin’

It’s Friday
See Jesus walking to Calvary
His blood dripping
His body stumbling
And his spirit’s burdened
But you see, it’s only Friday
Sunday’s comin’

It’s Friday
The world’s winning
People are sinning
And evil’s grinning

It’s Friday
The soldiers nail my Savior’s hands
To the cross
They nail my Savior’s feet
To the cross
And then they raise him up
Next to criminals

It’s Friday
But let me tell you something
Sunday’s comin’

It’s Friday
The disciples are questioning
What has happened to their King
And the Pharisees are celebrating
That their scheming
Has been achieved
But they don’t know
It’s only Friday
Sunday’s comin’

It’s Friday
He’s hanging on the cross
Feeling forsaken by his Father
Left alone and dying
Can nobody save him?
Ooooh
It’s Friday
But Sunday’s comin’

It’s Friday
The earth trembles
The sky grows dark
My King yields his spirit

It’s Friday
Hope is lost
Death has won
Sin has conquered
and Satan’s just a laughin’

It’s Friday
Jesus is buried
A soldier stands guard
And a rock is rolled into place

But it’s Friday
It is only Friday
Sunday is a comin’!

SM Lockridge – Sunday is coming!

As we served people today at the food bank, and some of us shared in the Good Friday worship in the chapel, these words from Desmond Tutu rang out as a herald for Sunday:

Victory is Ours, so we can say;
Goodness is stronger than evil;
Love is stronger than hate;
Light is stronger than darkness;
Life is stronger than death;
Victory is ours through Him who loves us.
(Desmond Tutu)

It’s Friday …… but Sunday is coming!

My “Grubby Jesus”

Standard

img_2714This painting is by Chris Duffet, a fellow pioneer who I met at Breakout Conference last year, it is a piece of art work that he has now worked and reworked in his Pioneer Ministry a number of times. It is a piece of art that when I saw it spoke immediately to me and reminded me of one of my own encounters with Jesus.

I wouldn’t by any means call myself a Christian “mystic”, I’ve got far more reflective friends and colleagues who are nearer that mark, and who remind me, by their very different way of being, that my activism sometimes leaves me with little time to encounter God in this particular way (and maybe that is my loss), but there are, and have been times, when I have encountered what might be called the “mystical”.

The first of these was on my return to faith, after around 30 years of disbelief and atheism. The memory fades over time and seems slightly “less tangible” but it is important to remind myself from time to time. I remember going to bed arguing with a God I didn’t acknowledge (wrestling almost like Jacob: Genesis 32.24-32) saying that I didn’t really believe but IF there was God in the universe, I needed to know, I needed a sense of it. I remember sleeping on and off that night, I remember crying, I remember a brightness and a feeling of being wrapped in a kind of soft cotton wool feeling that I can’t describe, and I remember in the morning waking and knowing I was different, and knowing I had encountered God.

But Chris’ painting reminded me not of that but of a more recent encounter. At the beginning of 2015 I was afflicted with kidney stones (an experience I don’t want to repeat, but one that is commonly repeated once experienced). It finally led to me hospitalised with a severe kidney infection on Thursday evening of Easter Holy Week. For those reading this who want “another” explanation let me say: I know I was ill and had a severe infection, I know I was significant doses of prescribed drugs (including morphine), I know it was Easter and so my mind was set to that mode – but none of these things to me preclude an encounter with the mystical elements of my faith.

It was in the early hours of Easter Sunday morning, I was again dozing in and out of conciousness and remember hearing a doctors voice talking in the next set of beds to a very distressed old lady. His calmness, gentleness and compassion were balanced by his authority and command of the situation, he was going to bring healing to her, but first she needed to feel safe. I drifted off again and at some point I remember seeing stood before me my “Grubby Jesus”. I say grubby because he was, he appeared olive skinned but also with a grubbiness that comes from perhaps being on the streets for a long time without good access access to soap and a shower, and he wore a “coat” that again was not dirty as such but that had certainly seen its share of wear and tear.  It was a Jesus who had worked and laboured, who had sat by dirty roads, and in doorways with those living on the streets, a Jesus who was at home with the poor and vulnerable. His face was unknown to me and yet immediately I “knew” and recognised it as Jesus, at that point he held out his hands (as in Chris’ painting) and I heard him say the words “Do you trust me?”, yes I answered – he nodded and vanished. Once again I was left with a strange, unworldly, feeling of peace and happiness that overwhelmed me for some minutes.

I know there are folk who will explain this in completely  “scientific” and “earthly” terms, and put it down to my condition at the time, the drugs, the conversations I’d overheard, my own religious Easter baggage that my mind had brought; and I accept all these things. I also KNOW what I experienced. I know the feeling I experienced, beyond the vision and the words, I know my own reality of the encounter with my “Grubby Jesus”.

And what of my “Grubby Jesus” in the real world, as we call it? Well I suppose I still catch glimpses of him, amongst the people who come for help at the food bank, amongst my friends with learning disabilities and mental health problems, in the community garden and on the allotments, and on the streets of where I live and work. He doesn’t always look the same, but when he catches my eye I recognise him and remember.

Chris Duffets blog can be found at: https://chrisduffett.com/2016/06/16/hands-hands-and-more-hands/