Jesus

Good Shepherd of us all

/ Eric Mathews / Leave a comment
image by Lawrence OP via Flickr
 
Good Shepherd of us all,
I thank you today for all the good shepherds in my life
and for all the ways you’ve shepherded me
through their love, their watchful presence,
their devotion and protection…

I thank you for my parents, my first shepherds;
I thank you for their protection, for the shelter of their love,
and for all they sacrificed
to help me grow…

I thank you for other shepherds in my family
and for all my friends
who comfort and challenge me,
who dry my tears and make me laugh,
who walk faithfully close by my side…

I thank you for all the shepherds
who taught me in school,
who counseled and directed me,
who shaped me and helped me to become
the person I am today…

I thank you for shepherds
whose names I don’t know, who stand in harm’s way
’round my town and ’round the world,
standing guard all day long to keep me safe,
keeping vigil while I sleep without a worry…

I thank you Lord, for the shepherds who care
for the sick and dying sheep among us,
who bind up wounds,
who bring comfort to those in pain,
who speed the path to health
or ease the path to end of days…
I thank you for the shepherds you’ve called home,
especially those gone much too soon,
whose gentle shepherd’s crook I miss,
whose presence still abides within my heart…

I thank you for the shepherds, Lord,
who remember me in prayer,
lifting up my name and needs to you;
who keep me in the sheepfold of your grace,
you, my gentle Shepherd,
Good Shepherd of us all…
Amen.
 
Fr. Austin Fleming, Roman Catholic Priest in Massachusetts
 
______________________________
 
 
I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me— 
 just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—
and I lay down my life for the sheep.

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Prayer professing faith

/ Eric Mathews / Leave a comment
painting by Carl Heinrich Bloch, 1881 via Wikimedia Commons
 
 
God, Creator, you planned from the beginning –
    telling evil that the woman’s offspring would crush it.
You called to Abraham from his land on the margins to follow you. 
He and three more generations relied on you to live in a strange land. 
Later, you led the descendants of Israel out of Egypt, out of bondage. 
You led your people with judges like Deborah, 
    with kings like David whose family included migrants, 
    and with prophets like Daniel who lived as minorities in strange lands. 
In all these ways you remind us to focus our hope on your salvation 
    rather than in an earth-bound culture. 
And when it seemed that you were absent, you sent your Only Son.

Transgressing our sense of power, your Son was born as the baby of a virgin. 
Tempted in the ways we still are – riches, fame, and glory – 
    he chose a life of humble service, service to others even while he was betrayed. 
He drank the full cup of suffering. 
In his humiliation he was deprived of justice and tortured. 
Jesus suffered outside the city gate to make people holy through his own blood.

When he died, he crossed the border of hell. 
Three days later God raised him from the grave, exchanging death for life. 
He appeared to Mary, Mary Magdelen, Salome, and Joanna; 
    he walked with Celopas and another disciple on the road to Emmaus 
    to those on the margins. 
Then he appeared to Peter and the twelve, 
Christ, raised from the dead, presents us with salvation.
 
complied by Claudio Carvalhaes, professor of worship in New York City
 
___________________________
 
 
Then he opened their minds so they could understand the Scriptures. He told them, 
    “This is what is written: The Messiah will suffer and rise from the dead on the third day, 
     and repentance for the forgiveness of sins will be preached in his name to all nations,
     beginning at Jerusalem.”
 

On shore

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Christ Appears on the Shore of Lake Tiberias – James Tissot via Wikimedia
Meal of Our Lord and the Apostles – James Tissot via Wikimedia
 
The blame forgotten,
shame covered,
Peter leapt into the sea.
Where tears once drowned hope
and denials became despair and self loathing,
his eyes had seen that figure on the shore,
that body once strung across the stained wood of execution.

A revived fishing business,
the dull depression of remembered cowardice,
of failed courage,
bad dreams of abandonment,
a deep sea of pain,
now splashed with new hope.

Peter would make it to the shore.

He is risen.
Peter is risen from the dead.
Three times denied.
Three times invited to love again
by him who three times prayed his own despair
and, three times mocked ‘mid three crosses,
in three days rose to resurrect Peter.

Peter made it to the shore.

Others made it to the shore.
They ate together,
a fellowship of grace and rehabilitation,
of forgiveness and hope,
a symbol of the persistence of divine love,
also for you and me.

 
William Loader, 1944- , Australian minister and professor
 
_____________________________________
 
 
Afterward Jesus appeared again to his disciples, by the Sea of Galilee.
It happened this way: Simon Peter, Thomas (also known as Didymus), 
Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two other disciples were together.
“I’m going out to fish,” Simon Peter told them, and they said, “We’ll go with you.” 
So they went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.

Early in the morning, Jesus stood on the shore, 

    but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus.

He called out to them, “Friends, haven’t you any fish?”

“No,” they answered.

He said, “Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.” 

When they did, they were unable to haul the net in because of the large number of fish.

Then the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” 

As soon as Simon Peter heard him say, “It is the Lord,” 
    he wrapped his outer garment around him (for he had taken it off) and jumped into the water.
The other disciples followed in the boat, towing the net full of fish, 
    for they were not far from shore, about a hundred yards.
When they landed, they saw a fire of burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread.

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seeing Easter through fresh eyes

/ Eric Mathews / Leave a comment
The Women at the Sepulchre, Benjamin West, Brooklyn Museum
 
Lord,
as if the shock of Good Friday wasn’t enough for your closest followers…

We feel for those faithful women who went to visit you
just after sunrise on that Sunday morning,
and fled, trembling and bewildered and afraid.

You were not there.

Forgive us when we sanitise your death.
And forgive us, too, if we belittle your resurrection!

Please help us to see this most incredible of moments,
this greatest twist of any plot,
through fresh eyes,
on this bewildering, yet most joyful of mornings.

Help us to see it through the tear-filled eyes of those women.

Help us to see it through the disbelieving eyes of the men,
some of whom came running.

And help us to glimpse it through your own eyes,
which must have blinked into the early morning sunlight
of that first Easter Day,
from out of complete, and utter, darkness,
and refocused,
and creased, with a smile.

You are risen indeed.
 
 
Brian Draper, Christian writer in the UK 
 
_________________________________
 
 
On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, 
    the women took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. 
They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 
    but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. 
While they were wondering about this, 
    suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them. 
In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, 
    but the men said to them, 
        “Why do you look for the living among the dead? 
          He is not here; he has risen! 
          Remember how he told you, while he was still with you in Galilee: 
           ‘The Son of Man must be delivered over to the hands of sinners, 
             be crucified and on the third day be raised again.’ ” 
Then they remembered his words.
 

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Prayer for Holy Saturday

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Lamentation of Christ, Andrea Mantegna, via Wikimedia Commons

Today a tomb holds him who holds the creation in the hollow of his hand; 
    a stone covers him who covered the heavens with glory. 
Life sleeps and hell trembles, and Adam is set free from his bonds. 
Glory to your dispensation, whereby you have accomplished all things, 
    granting us an eternal Sabbath, your most holy Resurrection from the dead.

What is this sight that we behold? What is this present rest? 
The King of the ages, having through his passion fulfilled the plan of salvation, 
    keeps Sabbath in the tomb, granting us a new Sabbath. 
Unto him let us cry aloud: Arise, O Lord, judge the earth,
    for measureless is your great mercy and you reign forever.

Come, let us see our Life lying in the tomb, 
    that he may give life to those that in their tombs lie dead. 
Come, let us look today on the Son of Judah as he sleeps, 
    and with the prophet let us cry aloud to him: 
You have lain down, you have slept as a lion; 
    who shall awaken you, O King? 
But of your own free will you rise up, 
    who willingly gives yourself for us. 
O Lord, glory to thee
 
Mattins, Holy Saturday, Orthodox
The Oxford Book of Prayer slightly modernized
 
___________________________________
 
 
The women who had come with Jesus from Galilee followed Joseph 
    and saw the tomb and how his body was laid in it. 
Then they went home and prepared spices and perfumes. 
But they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment.

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Prayer on Good Friday

/ Eric Mathews / Leave a comment
photo by Murilo Soares via pexels
 
Prayer on Good Friday.
Which isn’t good at all.
One of the great misnomers of all time.
It’s bleak, haunted, immensely sad.
It rivets and ravages me every year 
    as I sit hidden behind a post-beam
    in the balcony of the chapel,
    where no one can see me weeping
    at the poor broken Yeshua,
    betrayed by his best friends,
    beaten by sneering cops,
    blood dripping into His eyes,
    grilled by a police chief who couldn’t care less
        about justice and mercy and only wants to evade blame
        for a matter he considers minor at best.
 
Yet it wasn’t minor at all,
     and somehow it turns on that harrowing day long ago.
A mysterious young man from a country village,
    causing an epic political and civil ruckus in the city.
A murderous mob, angry religious Brahmins, potential colonial unrest
    that will not look good at headquarters.
Gnomic answers by the calm young man when interrogated.
Poor Peter bitterly berating himself for his cowardice,
    and which one of us would have done better?
The apostles frightened, the sound of hammers 
    nailing the young man to a cross,
    the lowering darkness, 
    the murmurs of fear through the city as the sun is blotted out.
Veronica’s veil and Simon’s shoulders, Simon the African,
    did compassion surge and make him step forth,
    or was he shoved into legend by a soldier?
 
The gaunt young man sagging toward death; 
    His quiet blessing of a thief;
    His last words to his mother;
        one last desperate cry;
    He thirsts, He prays, He dies.
 
And in the chapel not another word, not another sound;
    and soon we exit silently, and go our ways,
    for once without the tang of Euchaist on our tongues,
    for once without a cheerful chaff for friends and handshakes all round;
    and no matter how bright the rest of the day,
        how brilliant the late afternoon, 
        how redolent the new flowers,
        how wild the sunset over the river
    you shiver a little; not just for Him, but for all of us,
    His children, face to face with despair.
And so silently home to pray for light emerging miraculously
    where it seemed all dark.
And so: amen.
 
Brian Doyle, 1956 – 2017, Catholic author from Oregon
A Book of Uncommon Prayer
____________________________
 
 
It was now about noon, 
    and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon,
    for the sun stopped shining. 
And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. 
Jesus called out with a loud voice, 
    “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”
When he had said this, he breathed his last.
 

What was it like when Mary anointed your feet?

/ Eric Mathews / Leave a comment
image, GFreihalter, CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons
 
 
Jesus, what was it like when Mary anointed your feet?
Was there daylight or was the room lit with candles?
Did she anoint your right foot first?
Was the spikenard warm?
How long did it take to pour out the entire bottle?
What did it feel like to have her hair wiping your feet?
Just how fragrant did the room become?

What was Mary feeling? Immense gratitude, unbridled love, melancholy?
Did she have any idea that she was preparing your body for burial?

What was the tone of Judas and the disciples who objected?
Were any of them really thinking of the poor?
Would I have joined them in their disdain?

How sharp or gentle were your words of correction?
Did they have any idea that you would be washing their feet soon?

How did Mary receive your words defending her?
Did she smile, or did her eyes become wet?
How did she feel when you shared that you would not be with them much longer?

What was it like to be with you that evening, Jesus?
Be close to me as I follow you through Holy Week.
 
EM
_________________
 
 
Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, 
    where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. 
Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. 
Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. 
Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; 
    she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. 
And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, 
    “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? 
      It was worth a year’s wages.” 
He did not say this because he cared about the poor 
    but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, 
   he used to help himself to what was put into it.

“Leave her alone,” Jesus replied. 
“It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. 
You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.”

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enlighten us to see the beam

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Parable of the Mote and the Beam, Domenico Fetti, via Wikimedia Commons

 
Lord, enlighten us to see the beam that is in our own eye,
    and blind us to the mote that is in our brother’s.  
Let us feel our offences with our hands,
    make them great and bright before us like the sun,
    make us eat them and drink them for our diet.  
Blind us to the offences of our beloved,
    cleanse them from our memories,
    take them out of our mouths forever.  
Help us at the same time with the grace of courage,
    that none of us be cast down when we sit lamenting
    amid the ruins of our happiness or our integrity:
Touch us with fire from the altar,
    that we may be up and doing to rebuild our city.

Robert Louis Stevenson, 1850-1894, Scottish Novelist, published by his wife
The HarperCollins Book of Prayers


Matthew 7:3-4

Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, 
    but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? 
Or how can you say to your brother, 
    ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ 
     when there is the log in your own eye? 

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wash me with your tears

/ Eric Mathews / Leave a comment
Jesus Wept by Daniel Bonnell
 
Lord, we show you our wounds so that you may heal us.
And even if we do not, you know,
    and you wait to hear our voice.
Do away our scars by tears,
    like the woman in the gospel who washed your feet with hers.
 
You know how to help the weak,
    when there is no one who can prepare the feast,
    or bring the ointment,
    or carry along a spring of living water.
You come yourself to the grave.
 
So come to this grave of mine, Lord Jesus,
    that you would wash me with your tears.
With my dry eyes I have no such tears
    as to be able to wash away my offenses.
With your tears I will be saved, if I am worthy of your tears.
 
With them you will call me out of the tomb of this body and say, 
    “Come forth.”
Then my thoughts will not be kept pent up
    in the narrow limits of this body,
    but may go forth to you, and move to the light,
    that I may think no more on the works of darkness,
    but on the works of light.
 
Ambrose of Milan, c.339-397, Bishop of Milan
 
___________________________
 
 
When Jesus saw her weeping,
    and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping,
    he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled.
“Where have you laid him?” he asked.
“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.
Jesus wept.
Then the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”
 
When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, 
    “Lazarus, come out!”
The dead man came out, 
    his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, 
    and a cloth around his face.
Jesus said to them, 
    “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”

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Give us the grace to admit . . .

/ Eric Mathews / Leave a comment
 
Lord Jesus, we are silly sheep who have dared to stand before you
    and try to bribe you with our preposterous portfolios.
Suddenly we have come to our senses.
We are sorry and ask you to forgive us.
Give us the grace to admit we are ragamuffins,
   to embrace our brokenness,
   to celebrate your mercy 
        when we are at our weakest,
    to rely on your mercy no matter what we may do.
Dear Jesus, gift us to stop grandstanding and trying to get attention,
    to do the truth quietly without display,
    to let the dishonesties in our lives fade away,
    to accept our limitations,
    to cling to the gospel of grace,
    and to delight in your love.
 
Brennan Manning, 1934-2013, American author, laicized priest, and speaker
 
____________________________
 
 
So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. 
There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most.
 

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