Being woken up in the (relatively) small hours by the sound of my work mobile phone was guaranteed to set my heart thumping... it turned out to be something easily resolved, of no pastoral and very little practical significance, but it did mean I was up, dressed and out of the house before 5 a.m., which felt a rather strange start to Good Friday.

If the Biblical narrative is anything to go by, the early hours of Good Friday saw people being awoken by people hammering on their doors, demanding action, a trial, an execution... Blearly-eyed, adrenalin-driven repectable people dragged from slumber to act, and act now.  And Jesus, kept up all night, his heart broken, his body weary, his end now self-evident ,dragged from pillar to post and back again, all before anyone gets to Golgotha, and mostly whilst the majority of folk are sleeping.

Good Friday is a strange day, we never quite know how to mark it - in some places Walks of Witness continue, in others Messy Church, in others vigils; in some ecumenical, in others single traditions... and so on.  We centre on the cross, and rightly so, but today I am reminded of those who were dragged from slumber and thrust into a fast-paced, bewildering, unstoppable chain of events that would end in ways they'd never have imagined the night before.

Up-all-night God,

There in the garden

In the courtyard

On the road

At the trials

Hearing the voices

Alert to the ridicule

Seeing the beating...

You are always present with us in our own night-times

Whether we slumber peacefully

Sleep fitfully

Or toss and turn anxiously

You know and understand

How adrenalin affects us

Fight or flight or freeze

Pumped up or pulled down

And you are with us

Today help me be aware

Of those who find themselves

Propelled or compelled

Into situations

Or conversations

Or decisions

That trigger these instincts

Help me to be aware of my own responses,

Of their potential for good or ill.

And, as we look to the cross

As we wonder and worry

As we marvel

As we are disgusted

As we struggle

Stay close in the deep darkness of broad daylight

And give us your peace.

Last night the focus was on Bonhoeffer, and four strands in his thinking: Discipline, Action, Suffering and Death.  These are good words to carry on into today as we focus on

Foot washing

Bread breaking

Wine pouring

Kiss betraying

Curse denying

Not a lot of words today, just a prayer:

Foot-washing God, kneeling in front of me and gently wiping the dust of another year's journey, how tender is your touch

Bread-breaking God, offering me nutrition for my body's ongoing life, symbolising your own death

Wine-pouring God, blessing me for my journey onwards, your love splashing in the cup of my heart

Kiss-betrayed God, meeting my gaze and weeping over my failure to understand

Curse-betrayed God, hearing the course crow of the cock as once more I fail to acknowledge you

On this day of mystery

In the symbols

In the remembering

Meet me afresh, cleanse, forgive, strengthen, delight...

Then lead me into the darkness to wait patiently with you, for you...

Amen.

By default, this seems to be turning into reflections on the service the night before!

Yesterday evening's service was rooted in Romans 3: 21 - 26 which, evidently, according to Martin Luther, is the heart of the New Testament, and indeed the heart of the Bible.  In a careful, line by line exegesis/exposition the preacher reminded us that Easter is all about atonement, about putting humanity right with God.  He didn't press any one understanding of atonement, though the choice of music reflected a strong PSA (penal substitutionary atonement) model.

If I'm honest, I always take it as read that Easter is about atonement - in all its assorted understandings and interpretations.  Perhaps that means that when I hear or respond to the stories of Holy Week or the passion I listen through a different ear trumpet (or whatever the audio parallel to a lense might be!) that is more concerned with the 'what' than the 'why'.  Perhaps it is important for me to shaken out of my own complacency.

I know "why", God.

I was taught in school and Sunday School and Brigade and, and...

I know that this is a story about atonement

About cancelling debt

Or restoring relationship

About blood shed to appease righteous indignation

(Even if I find that a toughie)

I know that through the centuries

Clever, faithful people

Have wrestled in order to wrest meaning and purpose to the story, or stories

I know the "why"

And instead focus on the "what" or perhaps the "how"

Perhaps this Holy Week

In the middle of the story

It is good to stop

Not deeming Romans 3: 21 - 26 the heart of the Bible

Not elevating a paragraph of Paul above everything else

But instead marvelling

That this atonement,

This making right

Transcended any racial, religious or other humanly defined categories

To include all...

All.

That's why.

So that all may drawn into the promise.

Those who think like me and those who don't

How ironic that universal embrace is part of this text:

"There is no difference between Jew and Gentile, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus"

As the global new reports spread stories of terror and sorrow

Remind me, remind us, that the sacrifice of Christ is made with no exceptions for all.

Last night I was at a united service for the Monday of Holy Week.  As I walked in, I could tell from the objects on the table that the focus was going to be the anointing of Jesus.  That's not right, I thought, today we do overturning the tables in the Temple.  But as I listened to the reading, which was from John 12, I realised something I have overlooked all my life...

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’

Six days before the Passover - whether this is the day the lambs are slaughtered or whether it is the "special sabbath" is a moot point - the events, according to John, happen near enough a week before the crucifixion/resurrection.  John, of course, has his clearing of the Temple story at the start of Jesus' ministry, not the end, chronology is not a big thing here, but presumably the six days has some significance...

It was a gentle service, with time to ponder privately the readings and reflections offered, some lovely hymns and a good place simply "to be".  It also made me pause and think how much I have shaped Holy Week in an image that has become familiar and comfortable, that I, too, need to disturbed or discomfited if only a little.

I knew, what to expect, Lord,

I knew that on this day we remembered that aspect of the story.

I knew that the choice was wrong.

But it wasn't wrong.

Unexpected,

Unfamiliar,

Whilst utterly familair...

And totally expected, if not just now.

Shake me out of my lazy familiarity.

Show me new insights.

Flood my senses with a scent of wonder.

Anoint my feet, my head

With hope,

With love,

With peace.

Traditionally the day when we think about Jesus ejecting the money-changers and animal-sellers from the Temple.  The day when the trappings of orthodox religion that had become a barrier rather than a blessing were named for what they were.  Which always gives me pause - what orthodox trappings might we have that prevent others from being able to seek for, or worship, God?

I guess we've all had to work through how we feel about the bake sales, the fairtrade stalls, the book stalls, the sponsored-event requests... but it has to be wider than this.  Sometimes on a Sunday we are all so incredibly busy with our alloctaed tasks or catching up with that person we need to speak to that perhaps we become our own barriers?  Oftentimes, in any church I know or have known, very elderly folk will lament the loss of a time when people came into church and sat quietly, preparing themselves for worship.  Today I ask myself what I might do better to enable others to experience worship, to have a place to pray, amidst the busyness of our fast-paced world.

It is written, this shall be a house of prayer for all people, but you have made it a den of thieves...

I'm sorry, Lord, for the times when my need to pass on a message, make an enquiry or catch up with someone I haven't seen for a while detracts, or distracts from their need, their desire for prayer

I'm sorry, Lord, for the times when I have been so busy attending to details of this or that aspect of the service that I haven't taken the time simply to sit in your presence

Overturn the tables of my distracted distracting and free me to encounter the one I say I seek.

Amen.