For those who are following the 'sertaline withdrawal' journey, today phase 2 begins, with a shift to one 50mg tablet every third day for three weeks (I started from 50mg daily, so a low start dose to wean from).

The night sweats are currently horrendous - sometimes one every five minutes when I'm awake - the day the flushes are also the most intense they've been for a couple of years.  The sertaline dreams continue to be nightmarish and vivid but knowing the end of this path is in sight certainly helps.

This journey is teaching me a lot abouy myself and about the challenges so many people live with, and never speak of.

If the ugly Menopausal Monster shows her ugly face, feel free to tell me - and if you know hormone and herbal free wyas of reducing flushes/sweats I'd love to hear them!

From Glasgow, from Orkney, from England, from Nigeria - visitors who added the gift of their presence to our gathering this morning.

From toddlers to nonagenarians and everywhere in between - regular worshippers who came together from the diverse circumstances of their own lives to share together.

Beautiful choral singing, a guest trumpeter, young women taking part 'up front' either in co-leading commuinion or in serving, some fascinating art works to ponder, and prayers with flowers... dressing the cross, which we then took and displayed outside our own (currently closed) building.

I really appreciated the willingness of people to engage with the service - which certainly wasn't everyone's natural preference of style - and felt that it had been well received.

Thanks especially to H for ideas and input, and to B for this photo of the cross in its final position.

Altars in cathedrals laid bare

Tabernacles flung wide and empty

No Mass spoken

We must enter the emptiness

Must ache

And ache

And ache...

Must weep

If we dare

If we will

If we can...

Must unknow what we think we know

Must forget what we have been told before

Must feel the pain of lost hope

Must ache with the guilt of words spoken or unspoken

Must wish for one more chance to express our love

Must feel,

Really feel,

Bereaved

With Mary

With the Beloved Disicple

With Peter

With Judas

With those whose names we will never know and whose stories will never be told...

Holy Saturday

Empty

Aching

Painful

So, my small contribution to this afternoon's service was this:

I Thirst

Jesus, knowing that all was now complete said, in order to fulfil the scripture, ‘I Thirst’

Can we, in our imagination stand alongside Mary, at the foot of the cross, looking up at her son, unable to reach out and comfort him in his suffering…

He is exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually…

Dehydrated by blood loss and the exertion of carrying the cross out of the city and up the hill…

His mouth and throat dry, incapable of forming spittle, he peels his tongue free from his teeth and utters the words: I thirst.

Of course he does.  Who wouldn’t?

Perhaps he drifts in and out of consciousness; maybe there are dreams or hallucinations… I wonder: does he recall – or dream about - another day when he experienced thirst and had no means to obtain refreshment?

Another day when, followers having gone to a nearby town to buy provisions, he sat alone, and strangely powerless beside a well, unable to draw water because he had no bucket…

In the heat of the day, his mouth dry and sticky…

A woman approached, and he asked, “will you give me a drink”

And the barrier between men and woman crumbled to dust…

She said, “But you are a Jew, and I am a Samaritan”

And the barrier between races and nations crumbled to dust…

He said, “Go and fetch your husband”; She said, “I have no husband”

And the stigma of divorce or widowhood, indeed of all martial status or none, crumbled to dust…

She said, “I see you are a prophet… and when Messiah comes he will explain all ”

He said, “I am he”

And the barrier between earth and heaven, time and eternity crumbled to dust…

And out of the dryness tiny bubbles of water began to emerge

And the bubbles became a trickle,

And the trickle became a fountain

And the woman and the man danced together in the living water…

Waking, regaining consciousness, emerging from a reverie,

A thirsty, dying man, hung on a cross, opens his mouth to speak

And the barrier between ‘now’ and ‘not yet’ crumbled to dust…

Yet still his cry is heard, echoing through history: “I thirst.” 

I am home, and thawing out, after a very wordy Good Friday vigil that, in my opinion, attempted too much and didn't leave enough space for silence.  I am sure some folk loved it, it just wasn't for me.

There were some really thoughtful reflections, for which I was grateful, is it 'ironic' that they were offered by lay women? Or is it, in fact, just the way of things?  Thank you I and A.

Right at the end, the person leading decided to take us on a canter through the Stations of the Cross, stating that there are twelve... erm, nope, there are fourteen (just as a full Tenebrae has 14 candles).

So, just in case you wondered they are...

Traditional/Roman:

1. Pilate condemns Jesus to die
2. Jesus accepts his cross
3. Jesus falls for the first time
4. Jesus meets his mother, Mary
5. Simon helps carry the cross
6. Veronica wipes the face of Jesus
7. Jesus falls for the second time
8. Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem
9. Jesus falls for the third time
10. Jesus is stripped of his clothes
11. Jesus is nailed to the cross
12. Jesus dies on the cross
13. Jesus is taken down from the cross
14. Jesus is placed in the tomb

Biblical/Protestant:

1. Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane
2. Jesus is betrayed by Judas and arrested
3. Jesus is condemned by the Sanhedrin
4. Jesus is denied by Peter
5. Jesus is judged by Pilate
6. Jesus is scourged and crowned with thorns
7. Jesus takes up his cross
8. Jesus is helped by Simon of Cyrene to carry his cross;
9. Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem;
10. Jesus is crucified
11. Jesus promises his kingdom to the re[pentant thief
12. Jesus entrusts Mary and John to each other;
13. Jesus dies on the cross; and
14. Jesus is laid in the tomb.