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A Skinny Fairtrade Latte in the Food Court of Life - Page 5

  • Easter 2018

    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.

  • Holy Saturday

    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,



    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





  • I Thirst - A Reflection

    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.”