Holy Week

Poetry for Holy Week

Maundy Thursday
 
Kneeling on Boston Common it's this foot, 
naked, resting in my lap with clean towel, 
socks, warm water waiting, that tells me 
this is what happens after a cold winter
of deep snow when you're homeless in 
dirty socks and cracked shoes that don't fit: 
this foot, bloody, swollen, toes deformed, 
I wash gently, first one, then the other, and 
never have I felt so close to Jesus, his feet,
bare, pierced, bloodied, nailed to the wooden 
cross.
 
Sarah Rossiter 
 

Good Friday

Am I a stone, and not a sheep,
That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,
To number drop by drop Thy blood’s slow loss,
And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved
Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;
Not so the thief was moved;

Not so the Sun and Moon
Which hid their faces in a starless sky,
A horror of great darkness at broad noon –
I, only I.

Yet give not o’er,
But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;
Greater than Moses, turn and look once more
And smite a rock.

Christina Rossetti

Judas, Peter

because we are all
betrayers, taking
silver and eating
body and blood and asking
(guilty) is it I and hearing
him say yes
it would be simple for us all
to rush out
and hang ourselves
but if we find grace
to cry and wait
after the voice of morning
has crowed in our ears
clearly enough
to break our hearts
he will be there
to ask us each again
do you love me?

Luci Shaw, 

Grace and peace, 

Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation