‘We are called to surrender ourselves to God, so that we can say with St Paul, “It is not I who live but Christ who lives in me.’’ Read the homily from the Easter Vigil at St Mary’s Church.

“The guards were so shaken,
so frightened of [the angel] that they were like dead men.” 

They would have experienced the trauma of war,
the battles and blood,
the combat,
the killings,
Seen things we would not want to see,
and braved the enemy,
taken orders,
taken possession,
taken loot,
taken lives.

And now they are frozen,
inanimate,
shocked to the core,
like dead men,
we are told.
Perhaps they’ve seen too much.

These men,
who have enjoyed the camaraderie 
and idle talk of a night-time watch
are rendered speechless,
immobile,
like dead men.

They have experienced something different,
something new,
seen things that are beyond their words.
They are dumb and tongue tied.
Perhaps they stare into the middle distance,
or sleep open eyed,
an induced coma.

An angel sits beside them,
passes the time of day,
resting on the very stone
that had sealed the sepulchre,
rolled away in an instant,
in the swoop of an angel’s light. 
The angel brings a lightning brightness to the scene.
The place of death is illuminated.

This is beyond their experience,
breaks their expectations of war.
They are rendered useless
in the face of beauty.
There is no white flag to wave.
Just the whites of their eyes, staring.
But they have surrendered now,
They have been overcome by the Divine,
by the power of Love

Turning to the women
who have entered the scene,
the angel quickly speaks,
offers words of comfort,
and reassurance.
He knows the intentions of their hearts,
and whom they seek.
“He is not here,” the angel whispers,
“he has risen,
as he said he would.”

Jesus has moved on,
beyond the grave,
beyond them,
for now.
And so they move on to meet him too.
Armed with the message of salvation,
they carry the news of Resurrection,
following a Divine order
to march on.

And then, from somewhere in the distance,
they see him,
He comes to greet them
across the garden.
They fall down,
clasp his feet,
hold onto him,
feel the warmth of the rising sun
upon their backs,
their face to his wounded feet,
which are the marks of love.

They surrender to him.
They are caught up in sheer love,
their lives turned around,
as they had always been turned
since the moment they knew him,
since the first time they met him
and had that growing awareness
of who he was.

 
Unlike the soldiers who play dead,
they feel alive,
more alive than they have ever felt before.
And they are ready to move on,
back to the others,
and onwards to Galilee,
to the water’s edge
where once they had walked with Jesus.

For us,
these Easter celebrations
are a fresh encounter with the Risen Lord.
We have been drawn deeper
into the mystery of Christ’s Death
and Resurrection.

Soon, we shall return to the waters of rebirth,
recall that moment when we first walked with Jesus,
when our own lives were changed,
when we drew deep from the wellspring of salvation,
when Christ’s death marked us,
when we were branded with love.

Here in South Cardiff,
we share our lives with so many different kinds of people,
building friendships
which cross religious boundaries,
straddles language and cultures,
working together to build a brighter world for all.
Our Muslim friends are, of course,
celebrating their own holy season of Ramadan,
and we are mindful that the word, ‘Islam’
identifies who and what they are called to be:
‘submissive to God.’

We, too, are called to submit,
to surrender ourselves to God,
so that we can say with St Paul,
‘It is not I who live
but Christ who lives in me.’

'When he died, he died,
once for all, to sin,” wrote St Paul.
“So his life now is life in God.
You too must consider yourselves dead to sin
and alive for God in Christ Jesus.”

Yes, we are ‘alive for God’ in Christ Jesus.
Quite simply, we are Alive - for God.
We have been made by God and for God,
and ‘our hearts are restless until they find their rest in him.’
We are called to surrender to him,
to be submissive to him,
to be enlivened by him
because we too are ‘in Christ Jesus.’

We are not to be like dead men,
immobile and useless,
shaken and afraid.
We are an Easter People,
filled with life,
living in Christ,
armed with the message of his Resurrection,
bearing the good news
that Jesus is risen from the dead.

It’s from Christ that the Apostles get their marching orders
to go out to the whole world.
It is a Divine Commission,
a sending out.

So too we are called to live and be the change,
to speak life into death,
hope into hopelessness,
to walk the way of peace,
to dismantle war,
to scatter hatred,
to untangle the injustices of the world,
so that Love will reign.
We are to stand alongside those who are weak and discouraged,
as a people who want and can and do transform the world,
because we will have known it is possible,
because we will have been transformed ourselves,
and have known what it means to have our lives turned,
again and again,
back to the One
who has Risen from the dead.

St Terese of Liseux said,
“Love consumes us
only in the measure of our self-surrender,’’

And so we must wave the white flag
and surrender to his Love,
to the One who “demands my soul, my life, my all.”
that we may we be consumed by his Love,
and be transformed by the beauty of his Love,
as we cling to Christ,
are moved on by Christ,
marched on with the victory cry of Alleluia!

“The strife is over, the battle done
The victory of life is won
the song of triumph has begun. Alleluia!

The powers of death have done their worst
But Christ their legions has dispersed
Let shouts of holy joy outburst.  Alleulia!

Lord by the stripes which wounded thee,
From death’s dread sting thy servants free
That we may live and sing to thee, Alleluia!

‘The death of Christ leaves its mark upon us, and it is the mark of Love.’ Fr Dean’s reflection at the Liturgy of the Lord’s Passion on Good Friday

He lay there for weeks.

A thin bed sheet, like a death shroud, covered him
even before he had given up the ghost.
The sheet was as thin as his skin
which showed each rib and collarbone.
His hip bones were like whale bones
abandoned on the beach.
His thin legs and cruel knees
would never hold his weight again
even though he was almost weightless now.

As his breath grew finally shallower,
deeper, slower,
he breathed his last,
like a child’s rattle,
playing games.

He was an old man.
He’d always been an old man to me, my grandfather.
Now just skin and bone and hair.
His grey hair,
which still retained a Hollywood wave,
was the only healthy thing about him.
His mind was long gone
as he looked for his mother,
now long dead,
and whom he seemed to see at the foot of his hospital bed.

Being just a teenager,
I had never seen a man die before
but we had waited for this
through the long nights sat in hospital chairs,
our feet raised high
to avoid the scuttle of the cockroaches
which came out at night.


There was nothing unnatural about his death.
He, like all of us, had it coming.
And, since he had always been a ‘miserable bugger’
who longed for the day
when he would be six feet under in Trealaw Cemetery
perhaps he would be happy now,
or at least a little bit happier.

I’m not sure if it was a little before this,
or sometime after,
that my older brother’s girlfriend died at the age of 16 years.
That was a difficult time.
These things leave their mark.

You and I could add countless experiences of death to this,
so personal and so tender,
all of which will have left their mark.

Our lives are full of many dyings and endings,
so many times of letting go and giving up.
Each causes us to grieve in some small way.
Many of these endings are so small and so insignificant.
when compared to the larger dyings,
but each one real,
each one leaves its mark upon us,

Today, we commemorate the ultimate giving up and letting go
as the heart of God aches with grief.
God the Son through whom the world was made
gives up the ghost.
The world is torn in two.
The skies break.
Hearts break.
The earth shakes.
The rocks shatters.
Lives are shattered.
Life will never be the same.

 
We are told his death changes things
and yet we still feel grief.
There is still sadness,
still madness in the world,
still badness which plays with our minds.

Where is this paradise promised to the repentant thief?
Where is the Kingdom of Love he proclaimed?
Where is the healing, 
the wholeness,
the love?

It is there,
in the breaking heart of God.
In the outstretched arms.
In the wounded back.
The pierced side.
The broken, bloody hands and feet.
The thorny crown.
The last breath.
The limp body.
The corpse of God
buried deep into the rock and the earth
in a borrowed grave.

He too is wrapped in cloth.
A thin shroud marks every contour of his body
as he is placed in the tomb,
upon the slab of rock.
On the third day,
they will find the sheet neatly folded,
as he brings order out of chaos,
life out of death,
like that first day of Creation
when God spoke the Word,
‘Let there be light.’
and there was light.

Those who watched him die
were marked for ever.
They were marked, as we are now,
with the mark of the cross.

We are marked with sacrifice and pain,
but, above, all we are marked with love.

The cross stands for us as a sign of God’s love,
and his utter commitment to us
and our little lives.
We, who wrap ourselves in death,
and tie ourselves up in knots
are liberated by this divine act of love.

If you ever doubt that you are loved,
then look at Jesus on the cross.

If you are ever overcome by grief and suffering and pain
then take some comfort from the cross.

If you feel burdened by sin or guilt
then take the cross to heart.

If you are confused or lonely,
scared or worried,
then let the cross of Christ
cut through your strange and mixed-up feelings.

If death has become too much for you
then let the cross be to you a promise of life,
and know that you are loved,
and saved,
and healed
and held.

The death of Christ
is the unusual
and universal mark
of God’s love for us.

So often
we can take love for granted
or confuse it for so many other things.

For even from that place of death
flow love and life,
blood and water flowing from his side,
his eucharistic presence for all time.

He is our hope,
our life, our love,
our salvation.

He is the beating heart of creation,
the one who sets us free,
leading us to Heaven,
leading us to God.

He is the One who has gone before us, risen from the dead,
and the One who is always at our side.

He is the One who is present in the hungry and the homeless.
He is trafficked across borders, sold into slavery,
become a commodity in the human exchange of greed.
He struggles to pay the bills.
He is hit at home and bullied at school.
He is burdened with illusions and mood swings,
struggles to find a vein to take the hit.
Takes the taunt of injustice,
the name calling, the racist slurs,
the sexist comments, the homophobic stripes.
He struggles through poverty’s difficult road to nowhere,
sits with a dying loved one,
cries the tears of a mother
whose child is lost to a single knife wound to the chest.
He lies beneath the bed sheets of a hospital bed,
and hides in a hole from enemy shelling
He is the One who leads us to where he is,
to that skull shaped hill of death,
so that experiencing his suffering and living his risen life
we may also hear and speak his words of light and life,
which brings order to chaos,
the new Creation
whose harvest is love,
and only love.

The Cross of Christ becomes the Tree of Life
whose branches are rich with mercy,
fruitful with forgiveness,
alive with love.

Yes, the death of Christ leaves its mark upon us.
And it is the mark of Love.

The command to love one another is one that can guide us through whatever confusion and chaos we might experience in this world. Here, Fr Edward reflects on this command for our Maundy Thursday celebrations.

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.

“Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father,” we read in tonight’s gospel reading “Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.”

Tonight and tomorrow, we find out what this means, for Jesus to love them to the end, for Jesus to love us to the end. Tonight, in the upper room. Tomorrow, on the cross. But of course after that new beginnings and we do well to hold onto that.

Think about what it would have been like to be in the upper room with Jesus on that first Maundy Thursday. Jesus has entered Jerusalem in triumph, but has also driven the moneychangers out of the Temple, and angered the chief priests and religious leaders in that holy city. They are now looking for a way to kill Jesus. He knows it, and his disciples know it. 

They may have found a safe haven in that upper room, but there is no safety outside those four walls. In fact, Jesus is now preparing his disciples for his death, and even telling them that one of his disciples, Judas, would betray him. 

And now, just hours before his betrayal and arrest, Jesus has gathered his disciples together in this  room. If we were there with him, we might wonder why. Why has he gathered us here? Is it to hide from danger? Is it to plan the next move? And what is the next move?

During supper, knowing all that was to come, Jesus got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet. That simple act was Jesus’ response to all the chaos and confusion and conflict swirling around him; all the danger, all the suffering that he knew was coming. The betrayal by Judas. The denial by Peter. The crowds shouting for him to be crucified. The religious and political leaders deriding him right up to his death. All of that was coming, and Jesus knew it.  

And his response to all of that was the simplest, most humble, least practical, most ordinary act of love and kindness that you could possibly imagine. And he did it, he says, to teach his disciples, and to teach us, what is more important than anything else in the world. He did it to teach us that at the end of the day, what really matters in this chaotic, often dysfunctional life is: love. To love each other as Jesus loved us is all that really matters. 

When we look around the world today, there is a lot to be concerned about. We are in the storm of a post COVID world, where there is the conflict in the Ukraine, the cost-of-living crisis and hostility towards refugees. During Lent we’ve been thinking about social justice, that all people are treated with dignity. Many thanks to Fr Dean who has prepared the daily reflections. Those reflections point to the great truth, that you can’t just think about that for a season, it has to be part of our common life as Christians.

And all of that is why I think that what Jesus did in that upper room is so very important. And to remember that when he did this, it was at a very anxious and discouraged point in his ministry. The upper room was a very tense place. A fearful place. And a divided place. In other words, it was a real place. 

And that is where Jesus did this very ordinary, yet extraordinary act. That is where Jesus got down on his hands and knees and washed their feet. That is where Jesus taught them to love one another. And where he issued his new commandment that we should do the same. Love one another. 

When we see the trouble in our world, and are confronted with the latest disturbing news, what should we do? Love one another. When we have disagreements about what to do about all the challenges our world faces, what should we do? Love one another. When there are people who want to betray us, or deny knowing us, at our moment of deepest need, how should we respond? Love one another. When in doubt, Jesus seems to be teaching us, love one another. We can always do that. 

No matter what else is going on in our lives, we can love one another. At times, it won’t seem enough. We will want to do more. Life is complicated. This world is complicated. And there are many times when we will be tempted to find another answer. And that is when it will be important to remember again all the chaos, confusion, conflict, and unrest swirling around the upper room. And to remember how Jesus responded to all of that. He responded to all of that, by loving those he was with. When in doubt, love another. A simple command, but one that can guide us through whatever confusion and chaos we might experience in this world. 

But what was most important was this simple command from Jesus to love another. 

We have a lot going on in Holy Week, and it quite rightly demands our attention. Cries of “Hosanna” give way to cries of “crucify him” and it is tempting to look away or perhaps think of more pleasant things, but love can only be bourn out of the hear of sacrifice.

Lent and Holy Week are a flurry of activity, it would be easy to get distracted from what is at the heart of it all. And what is at the heart of it all is love. God’s love for us, which Jesus embodies. And our Lord’s command to us to share that love with one another. 

“Having loved his own who were in the world, [Jesus] loved them to the end.”

What does that mean? That he loved us to the end? Many things, but tonight, if you want a picture of that love, an example of what it might look like, then picture the Son of God, Jesus of Nazareth, down on his hands and knees, washing feet. And remember his words: 

“Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”

‘What are you prepared to give me if I hand him over to you’

(see Matthew 26:14-25)

The United Kingdom is a destination country for men, women and children primarily from Africa, Asia and Eastern Europe who are subjected to human trafficking for the purposes of sexual slavery and forced labour.  Whilst the maximum jail sentence for a human tracking violation is 14 years, the amount of money that traffickers outweigh the risks.  The reported sales value of a victim in the UK is usually between £3000 and £4000.  The revenue generated by one sex worker was estimated to be £48,000.

In the gospel reading today, a price is put on the life of Jesus of 30 pieces of silver.  Plans are in place, made through a financial transaction.  Jesus’ movements are known and soon he will be handed over, his identity marked by a kiss.  He will be hurried away from the space he has carved out for prayer in Gethsemane.  Throughout the night there will be an exchange of words.  He will be moved from pillar to post as he offers his back to those who struck him, his cheeks at those who tore at his beard, he will not cover his face against insult and spittle.  He will be bartered for and eventually exchanged with the crowd for an arrested criminal called Barabbas.  Justice is manipulated.

First, though, Jesus will sit to celebrate the Passover with his disciples.  He has given them instructions to prepare the place where this will happen.  At table, he will give them a gesture of love, a command to love, which has continued to this day and in our own lives as we celebrate the Eucharist in obedience to him.  Through this Eucharist, we receive all the benefits of Christ’s Death and Resurrection.  We proclaim his death until he comes again.  In laying down his life for us, he has shown what we are worth.  As we receive the Sacrament of his Body and Blood, we are recalled to our dignity as human beings, and our calling to treat others with dignity too.  Human Beings are not commodities.  We are made in God’s image. In the Eucharist, the only exchange is love.

MAKE THE CONNECTION: This reflection is based on the readings from today’s Mass on Monday 5 April. Mass is celebrated here today at St Paul’s Church, Grangetown at 10am, St Mary the Virgin, Butetown at 11am, and St Saviour’s Church, Splott at 7pm

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Our daily reflections for Lent focus on the many injustices which exist in our world, as we seek to connect our life of prayer to social justice, the Justice of God which Christ proclaimed. More resources are available at www.southcardiffministryarea.co.uk/just-lent

‘Night had fallen’

(see John 13:21-33,36,38)

One of the most famous and enigmatic stage directions from William Shakespeare is in his play ‘The Winter’s Tale’ when Antigonus is given the direction ‘Exit, pursued by a bear.’  This sudden appearance of a bear chasing off Antigonus to his death often amuses and mystifies modern readers.

Today’s gospel reading is indeed a dramatic piece of writing, and whilst there are no stage directions, the imagery and symbolism provide us with a moving and tense narrative.  The dialogue between Jesus and his disciples is filled with pathos as Peter, concerned about the news of betrayal, leans across to the Beloved Disciple to ask him to find out from Jesus who it is.  The disciples eye one another with suspicion.  They even doubt themselves.  As Judas eventually leaves the table and makes his exit, prompted by Jesus to do what he must do quickly, we are told ‘Night had fallen.’  It is a symbolic stage direction, a sentence loaded with meaning.  There is cause to shiver, as Judas flees into the darkness.

It is into this darkness that Jesus will move, wrestling with God among the darkened olive branches of Gethsemane’s Garden, as torch bearing police move in quickly to arrest him and take him to trial.  In Elie Wiesel’s book about his experience of the Jewish Holocaust in the Death Camps of Auschwitz and Birkenau, the image of Night pervades.  There is much darkness in the world, and so many places and situations in which Night has fallen. ‘I will make you the light of the nations so that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth,’ we read in Isaiah’s prophecy.  Through this Holy Week, as we enter more deeply into the mystery of Christ’s suffering and death, may we trust in God’s power to save.  In the faith of the Resurrection, may we bring his light and his love to the situations in the world today where there is darkness and hatred.  With the psalmist, may our prayer be ‘My lips will tell of your justice, and day by day of your help… I will proclaim your wonders still.’

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Our daily reflections for Lent focus on the many injustices which exist in our world, as we seek to connect our life of prayer to social justice, the Justice of God which Christ proclaimed. More resources are available at www.southcardiffministryarea.co.uk/just-lent

‘She had to keep this scent for the day of my burial. You have the poor with you always.’

(see John 12:1-11)

Managing huge budgets and determining how to spend public money rarely makes politicians popular although, even in the most difficult financial circumstances, how money is spent says a lot about policies and values, what they think is important and who they think is important. 

In the gospel reading, whilst far from the political scene, Judas Iscariot seems to portray a concern for the poor.  Money is literally poured away over the feet of Jesus and he seems to be aghast. But the gospel writer is quick to correct the reader if they think that Judas is being selfless and caring.  He is immediately portrayed as a thief, happily helping himself to the common fund.  Now we are under no illusion about his intentions. Meanwhile Jesus jumps to Mary’s defence.  She has kept this ointment for his burial.  This is a sign that death is nearing, and so the scent of death fills the room in which they are gathered.  However, the presence of Lazarus, whom Jesus raised from the dead, reminds them and us of God’s power to save, and his liberating power which is stronger than death.

As we move through Holy Week, the saving death of Jesus is hanging in the air, as pungent as the sweetest perfume.  Throughout Lent, we have been considering issues of injustice in the world and here, in the gospel reading, as they argue over the poor, Jesus reminds them that the poor will always be with them.  There are always opportunities to serve, and to put our love and concern into action.  But, for this moment, perhaps, we can stoop to where Mary is – at Jesus’ feet.  We can attend to him, listen to him, love him.  He is the Lord who, to quote Isaiah, “faithfully beings true justice; he will never waver, nor be crushed, until true justice is established on the earth.”

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Our daily reflections for Lent focus on the many injustices which exist in our world, as we seek to connect our life of prayer to social justice, the Justice of God which Christ proclaimed. More resources are available at www.southcardiffministryarea.co.uk/just-lent

‘I shall make them into one nation in my own land and on the mountains of Israel.’

(see Ezekiel 37:21-28)

The average age of death for people experiencing homelessness is 46 for men and 42 for women.  People sleeping on the streets are almost 17 times more likely to have been victims of violence.  More than one in three people sleeping rough have been deliberately hit or kicked or experienced some other form of violence while homeless.  They are over nine times more likely to take their own life.

The reasons for such extreme homelessness are varied, ranging from social causes, such as lack of affordable housing, poverty and unemployment as well as life events which push people into homelessness.  It could be leaving prison, fleeing domestic violence, a break down, losing a job, mental and physical health problems or substance misuse.  But homelessness is preventable and can be ended.

The prophecy of Ezekiel speaks about God uniting his people, providing one land for them to live in, where God will dwell with them.  Those who are homeless may very well be regarded as living outside the community, or their plight be a forgotten problem.  But we are united with them, we are part of the same human family, a part of our community, and we have a responsibility to respond to their need and work towards the end of homelessness altogether.

PRAY FOR all who are homeless, and all who respond to their need, and for a compassionate and real response from churches and others.

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Our daily reflections for Lent focus on the many injustices which exist in our world, as we seek to connect our life of prayer to social justice, the Justice of God which Christ proclaimed. More resources are available at www.southcardiffministryarea.co.uk/just-lent

‘From his temple he heard my voice; my cry came to his ears.’

(see Psalm  17:2-7)

The voice of the psalms is filled with both joy and heartache, misery and relief.  There is a sense of relief in the verse chosen, for God has recognised the psalmist’s voice’  God has heard his cry.

At the age of 18, Hashi Mohamed, who would become the UK’s first black barrister, experienced homelessness for a year. He ended up at Centrepoint in Soho, the hostel for young homeless people.  In trying to gain accommodation he recognised the difficulties which the system created, and realised many of his fellow young people were also struggling.  In his book, People Like Us, he writes, “I learned an important lesson about the importance of language, the often random advantages that dictate who gets listened to and who gets ignored—and the power of knowing how to use your voice effectively.”  Once he had managed to arrange his own accommodation, he set about helping others.

This sound of one’s voice can create a prejudicial response from the listener because of the speaker’s lack of language, vocabulary, education or confidence, or simply having a certain accent.   “Language skills are not shared out equally in our society,” wrote Mohamed as he speaks about he ’language gap’ which exists between the most deprived people and communities and the most affluent. How do we respond to the ’sound’ of others? 

PRAY FOR teachers and others working with children and young people deprived areas, and for self-awareness of our own prejudices.

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Our daily reflections for Lent focus on the many injustices which exist in our world, as we seek to connect our life of prayer to social justice, the Justice of God which Christ proclaimed. More resources are available at www.southcardiffministryarea.co.uk/just-lent

‘I will make you father of a multitude of nations. I will make you most fruitful.’

(see Genesis 17:3-9)

In his book, ‘The Boy with Two Hearts,’ Hamed Amiri tells of his family’s struggles as they escape war torn Afghanistan to seek refuge in the UK, eventually settling in Cardiff as their home.  Their journey was made all the more difficult by the heart condition of his older brother, Hussein. In his book, after describing his brother’s death some years later, he writes ‘Love is a strange thing, especially when it’s felt between total strangers.  In my life with Hussein and through writing this book, I can now see that love crosses borders.  It crosses religions and families and can occur between people who’ll never see each other again.  It brings hope, even in the darkest moments you face.” 

We are part of the same human family and although there are many differences between us we have so much in common.  When the MP Jo Cox was murdered, her words that “We have more in common than that which drives us apart” fuelled a new campaign in her name to bring people together, rejoicing in what we have in common.

The promise of God to Abraham that he would make him father of a multitude of nations, not only reminds the three Abrahamic faiths of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, that we all have something in common as children of Abraham, it is a reminder and a call to us that we can and should be able to live alongside people who are different from us.  We are part of the same human family, walking the same earth and breathing the same air.  As Hamed Amiri reminds us, ‘Love crosses borders.’

PRAY FOR those who build friendships between people of different faiths and beliefs, and for those who seek  to create friendship rather walls.

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Our daily reflections for Lent focus on the many injustices which exist in our world, as we seek to connect our life of prayer to social justice, the Justice of God which Christ proclaimed. More resources are available at www.southcardiffministryarea.co.uk/just-lent

It was reported some years ago that, in the 1950s, a plan was explored by the US to ‘nuke’ the moon to demonstrate their power to the Soviet Union. It is this which forms the basis of the following meditation, following the words of Psalm 72, as our JUST LENT course comes to an end this evening.

May he live while the sun endures,
    and as long as the moon, throughout all generations.
May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass,
    like showers that water the earth.
In his days may righteousness flourish
    and peace abound, until the moon is no more.  (Psalm 72)

Can you believe
there was a plan to blow up the moon,
to send it to oblivion,
a cold war gesture to the Soviets
that the American arm was strong,
as the lunar light went out
and dust exploded across space,
announcing to the world that ‘the moon is no more’?

Can you believe
this night there is a child hiding,
with her father who covers her like a bomb shelter,
as they wait for the sounds of war to cease,
as buildings are blown to oblivion around them,
as homes are reduced to rubble?

Can you believe
this night there is an inflatable boat
fighting with the flow of the sea,
filled with those who have paid the fee to safety,
lined the pockets of human traffickers
who offer no money back guarantee
if death comes their way,
as they fly away from war?

Can you believe
this night there is a troop of soldiers
hiding behind a wall,
sent with instructions to take a land
that is not their own?

Can you believe
this night there is the endless promise of peace,
breathed by Christ upon his Apostles
and every day and night
since that moment in the upper room,
which provides an echo of the angel’s song
above the shepherds’ heads
on Bethlehem’s moonlit hills?

Can you believe
this night that peace is possible?
That Trident Missiles could disappear 
as deep into the past
as they are in the sea this night?

Can you believe
this night that peace is possible?
Where does it start?

May he live while the sun endures,
    and as long as the moon, throughout all generations.
May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass,
    like showers that water the earth.
In his days may righteousness flourish
    and peace abound, until the moon is no more.