Utterly brilliant!  Nineteen children, mostly aged under five, along with parents or grandparents came on a journey with us through Holy Week.

We began in the Temple making the sounds of the corwd and the animals; we met a money changer who was driven out by Jesus!

We then moved on to Bethany for a meal (yummy berries and other fruit) where Jesus' feet were anointed with perfume, and we made lavender bags to take home

Next we were allowed upstairs where Jesus washed his friends' feet and then we shared pitta bread and grape juice and heard that Jesus told his friends to remember how much he loved them when they ate and drank.

Lastly we tiptoed in silence down the stairs, along the road and up the hill to Calvary where Jesus died.

It seemed very sad, but everyone was given a clue to the surprise that God had planned... a chocolate egg that could be opened up and eaten on Sunday.

 Playing Jesus is not something that women often get the opportunity to do - and I found it both a privilege and quite profound (my two minutes of 'crucifixion' or arms spread out in love - you decide, we didn't say either way - left me with aching arms!)

Massive thanks to A, B, G, H, to P & L for loan of the paddling pool, and to everyone who came and took part... it was a fabulous morning.

PS It's not just narcissism that the pictures are of me - we do not have permission to post photos of the children online

Yesterday as part of our Seder, we washed everyone's hands in ritual fashion... the 'father' carried the towel, whilst I as 'mother' had the jug and basin.  Each person in turn offered their hands for washing... old, gnarled hands, young, smooth hands; white western hands, golden eastern hands, black African hands; hands that are employed in medical practice, hands that make music; hands that are perfect, hands that are damaged; hands offered willingly, hands offered hesitantly... each hand beautiful, made in the likeness of the divine.

Today as part of our children's vigil we had a simplified foot-washing... small children invited to remove their footwear and step through three bowls of water, having a small amount poured over them in the first bowl, before beng dried n a fluffy white towel.  Small feet, some white, some black; some boys, some girls; some eager participants, some less certain; some happily waking in the water, some needing to be lifted between the bowls; one managing to overturn the final bowl, another splashing their trousers... each foot lovely, made in the likeness of the divine.

I found it remarkably meaningful to wash these hands and feet... no direct contact, rather a focus on the hands and feet of those participating.

Meanwhile, of course, this being Good Friday, we recall how the hands and feet of the divine were rent by crucifixion nails; how flesh was torn and blood spilled... the hands and feet of the divine in our likeness.

Why three bowls of water, you are wondering - because we had three bowls!  Plan A was to use a paddling pool, but despite having two pumps we didn't have the necessary adapter so Plan B was to use wahsing up bowls, and one of my amazing people scoured the local shops to purchase them.

The lectionary goes into overdrive today...

Psalm 22
Hebrews 10:16-25 or Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9
John 18:1—19:42

Ever since I began to explore the way the New Testament, and especially the Fourth Gospel has been (ab)used in the cause of anti-Semitism, and ever since I spent an Easter working with an RC church where these most blatant of 'blame the Jews for Jesus death' were read in their entirety, I've been uncomfortable with the Good Friday readings.  I've known for since I was a child that it was not the Jews who executed Jesus (it was the Romans).  I've known since adolescence that in some way Jesus chose or accepted the path to Calvary as consistent with God's purpose, and that those who tried and executed him in some sense acted vicariously for, on behalf of, all humanity.  Curious that we can 'get' the vicarious in Christ but not in a group of first century middle eastern people.

This morning we are holding a 'children's vigil' - a telling of the story for children, mostly aged under five.  it is challenging - to tell the story honestly and engagingly whilst neither terrifying or tantalising these little ones.  We will use songs and symbols, crafts and movements to journey through Holy Week one last time and end up, literally, at the foot of the cross (we have a life sized cross).  And we will leave everyone there, not racing ahead to Sunday, for resurrection joy cannot be had unless there is first the hour of death and the empty, aching void of separation.

Whatever you are up to today, whatever readings you might be using two thoughts...

One, don't blame the Jews, or even the Romans for what happened

Two, don't rush ahead, stay with the place of death...

Can it be so, Lord Jesus

After the festal meal

Gethsemane

After the anguish of Gethsemane

The traitor's kiss

After the betrayal

The court of powerful men

After the ludicrous trial

The cockerel crowing

After the denial

The mocking and beating

After the scourging

The labour of cross-bearing

After the stumbling walk

The crucifixion

After the agony

The stillness of death?

My Lord, let me wait with Thee...

A lot of work by some wonderful people and a wonderful evening for those of us who partook...

Now I'm tired and ready to make lots of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Then back to church for children's vigil (and we gave ourselves permission to skip the grown-up one afterwards!)

At church we have a sign up that says 'welcome' in, I think, fourteen languages, spoken by members of our congregation or by people who live in the vicinity.  Last Sunday we had a complaint - I think in jest - that we had not included the Scots word (not that anyone seemed to know what it was!).

Now it seems to me that the jury us out, even in Scotland, as to whether Scots is a language in its own right or a dialect.  Suffice to say opinions are hotly contested and I tend to keep my distance!

In a moment of flippancy, I suggested we make an alternative poster with dialect words for welcome (or hello anyway) from around the UK.  Anyone want to profer their vairants?

Wotcha - Northampton (origins 'what cheer' so I'm told)

Ay up - Leicestershire, Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire

Hiya - North West England

Oh, and we also thought of

You'll have had your tea - Edinburgh

(Eat up) You're at your auntie's - Glasgow/Lanarkshire (and my mother!)