Alabaster Jar

When he was in Bethany reclining at table 
in the house of Simon the leper, 
a woman came with an alabaster jar of perfumed oil,
costly genuine spikenard.
She broke the alabaster jar and poured it on his head.

Mark 14:1-15:47
The carven alabaster,
a jar of sweet perfume,
rains out upon the master
anointing for the groom.
But once the flask is open,
no more can it be shut.
The hollow must be broken,
entirely poured out.

So Christ the living chalice
that holds the love of God,
not only tipped but shattered,
pours water from the rock.
And we are rendered speechless
as all the house is filled
with wonder at the fragrance
when that perfume is spilled.

We weep when it runs empty,
the sweetness all poured out;
we mourn to see his ending,
and all our tears drop down.
Though broken in his body,
anointed for the tomb,
still Christ pours out like water
the flood that makes us new.
Gemäldegalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Berlin. Berlin, Berlin. Germany. Schilderij, Christus in het huis van Simon de farizeër, Dierick Bouts, ca 1465-1470. Painting. Christ in the House of Simon the Pharisee. Dierick Bouts. Ca 1465-1470. . Dieric Bouts (ca 1410/1415-1475). pmrmaeyaert@gmail.com. © Paul M.R. Maeyaert. © Paul M.R. Maeyaert. Ref: PM_152261_D_Berlin. DO NOT CHANGE THE FILE NAME. NE PAS CHANGER LE NOM DE FICHIER. By PMRMaeyaert – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=144874337

The 11th Station: Jesus Is Nailed to the Cross

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you,
because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

Bent and bound,
pressed and held.
Hammer pounds:
Stretched and nailed.

Glaring noon,
roaring fierce.
Hammered through;
wholly pierced.

Then—again:
That hand next.
Worm, not man,
pinioned, fixed.

Pounded nails,
pounding heart.
All help fails:
“God, my God!”

Lifted up,
brazen sky.
Beaten, hung,
left to die.

Not dead yet,
more to give.
Gasp for breath:
“God, forgive.”

Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One,
have mercy on us.
A depiction of the Raising of the Cross, by Sebastiano Mazzoni, 17th century, Ca’ Rezzonico Ca’ Rezzonico – Innalzamento della Croce (Inv.065) – Sebastiano Mazzoni, Photo By Didier Descouens – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=85004855

The 10th Station: Jesus Is Stripped

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you,
because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

Climbed the hill of Calvary,
laid your burden down;
so, to climb the deadly tree,
you are stripped and bound.

Robbed of every paltry thing,
stand alone, at bay.
Dicing for your dignity,
soldiers sit and play.

Naked came you to the world;
naked will you leave,
fragile as a leaf uncurled,
shameful as a thief.

They have taken all you had,
parcelled out your clothes—
payment for the work in hand.
Soon, they'll count your bones.

Yet your tunic is untouched,
seamless as the seas.
Would that they had left you thus,
left your skin unseamed.

No, you stand there thorned and lashed,
tattered as a sail,
opened as the sea was gashed,
tearing through the veil.

Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One,
have mercy on us.
Westminster Cathedral, Stations of the Cross X, Photo By AndyScott – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=74518673 Westminster Cathedral

Kevlar Lorica

We are tied together, all of us,
as three are tied together in one,
as all of the elements are one creation.

We are tied together, all of us,
born like Christ in the sweat and muck,
dying like Christ in the dirt and blood,
buried like him underneath the stones,
rising—if we rise—as one,
judged by him on what we've done.

May Christ be a mist obscuring me,
Christ be the walls surrounding me,
Christ be the sun in the sniper's eyes,
Christ be the gun that just misfired.

Christ as the snow that covers my tracks,
Christ as the fire that pushes men back,
Christ as the rocks that take no print,
Christ as the darkness, and me within it.

Christ, cover every human face,
Christ, make their eyes to be blind with tears.
Christ be my hope and hiding place,
Christ be my only human shield.

Christ, shut the eyes of every gunner who aims at me.
Christ, shut the mouth of every commander who orders it.
Christ, shut the ears of every sapper who hunts for me.
Christ, shut the heart of every soldier who joys in it.

Christ in the jets that scream above me,
Christ in the stones that fall around me,
Christ in the hearts of those who love me,
Christ in the enemies who surround me.

Christ before me, Christ behind,
Christ with me and at my side,
Christ above me, Christ beneath,
at each hand and in gritted teeth.

We are tied together, all of us,
and our death is the death of Christ.

Testing bulletproof vest By National Photo Company – This image is available from the United States Library of Congress’s Prints and Photographs divisionunder the digital ID npcc.09503.This tag does not indicate the copyright status of the attached work. A normal copyright tag is still required. See Commons:Licensing., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3815063

Unless a Grain of Wheat

Jesus answered them, 
“The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.
Amen, amen, I say to you, 
unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, 
it remains just a grain of wheat; 
but if it dies, it produces much fruit.
Whoever loves his life loses it,
and whoever hates his life in this world
will preserve it for eternal life.”

John 12:20-33
The grains of wheat the sower long has carried,
the harvest of the seeds that came before,
you go into the darkness and are buried,
and everything you’ve been will be no more.

The road you take, your savior took before you,
who followed Adam to the roots of death.
And, ground between the stones of pain and sorrow,
in dying he becomes the living bread.

The shell that has surrounded you with safety
will not withstand the coming flood of tears,
then, naked in the silence, weak and shameless,
your patience waits the turning of the year.

For as you sit in darkness, spring is coming:
The light you long to see will break on high,
the prison doors swing open at its dawning,
and morning will release those doomed to die.

So go into your furrow and be planted;
crack open in the stillness underground,
For Jesus, by his death, all death has trampled,
and in his rising your new life is found.

Wheatfield with Crows, an 1890 painting by Vincent van Gogh. Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam – http://www.galeriacanvas.pl, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4400305

Psalm 51: Wash Me

Have mercy on me, God, as you are holy.
Have mercy, Lord, for you are merciful.
Though I have wandered far from my own soul now,
you are yourself, a well forever full.

Have mercy, though I walk in my transgressions
and, feasting, fill my mouth with sand and dust.
I dream of rain and wake to find a desert:
If this is water, why do I still thirst?

A heart of stone can live on dust and ashes;
create a heart for me of flesh and blood
that feels the fear of loss and sting of gladness.
Renew me, and my barren shoots will bud.

You are the only sea: Fill this dry streambed.
You are the rain: Then quench these thirsting bones.
Let floods destroy my shame and self-deceiving.
The record of my sin make blank as snow.

Lord, open up my lips to taste your waters,
and in between the sips I'll sing your praise.
This desert that I built I will not offer,
but let this beating heart be yours always.

Self Made: Shot in Chicago in the parking lot of the Century Shopping Center on April 15, 2007 By Victorgrigas at English Wikipedia – Own work: Originally from en.wikipedia; description page is/was here., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2148320

The 9th Station: The Third Fall

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you,
because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

Get up.  This isn't over.
Get up.  You can't stay here.
Your way goes even lower,
down underneath all fear.

Not just to pain, but suff'ring.
Not just to death, but hell.
You are the perfect off'ring—
You can't stop where you fell.

Get up, O son of heaven.
Get up, O prince of peace.
The sentence has been given:
You have not been released.

For what did you begin this,
why drown here in the mud?
Not payment, but forgiveness,
all debts washed out in blood.

Get up: The end's before you.
Get up; You can't stay down.
The jaws of death wait for you,
the lost souls crying out.

Not darkness, but for mercy.
Not silence, but for peace.
Death's hungry, and death's thirsty,
and you are all the feast.

Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One,
have mercy on us.
Calvary of Karl I of Austria and Station 9. Jesus falls the third time, Stations of the Cross. Made by Lőrinc Siklódy, Zsolt Hernádi (bronze casting), Zoltán Varga (conservator) in 2013 (originally 1927). Listed ID 16465. – Visszhang street, Tihany, Veszprém County, Hungary}}{{hu|1=Jézus harmadszor esik el a kereszttel . IV. Károly kálvária. Siklódy Lőrinc, Hernádi Zsolt (bronzöntő), Varga Zoltán (restaurátor) késztették 2013. (eredetileg: 1927). Műemlék azonosító [http://muemlekem.hu/muemlek?id=16465 16465]. – Magyarország, Veszprém megye, Tihany, Visszhang utca( az Óhegy déli lejtőjén){{Monument Hungary|16465}}

Photo By Globetrotter19 – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=47030507

The 8th Station: The Women

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you,
because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

The day will come, you say to us,
when we will bless the barren wombs,
command the mountains, “Cover us!”
and beg the hills to be our tombs.

The wood is green, but still it burns—
a stinging smoke that fills the sky—
two thousand years since then have turned.
The seasoned wood has gone bone dry.

Oh yes, we weep now for ourselves
and for our children yet to come.
We beg you to make all things well—
how can you heal what's long since done?

Reach out, O God in mortal flesh,
across millenia's abyss
to touch the passing of each breath.
My Christ, do not abandon us!

You go to break the chains of hell, 
to conquer death on Calvary. 
You go, and we will follow still:
Come with us into what shall be.

And when this dry wood meets the spark,
pour down the ancient flood once more—
not wrath, but mercy.  Drain your heart,
and rain on us forever, Lord.

Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One,
have mercy on us.

Theophile Lybaert – Jesus meets the daughters of Jerusalem By Theophile Marie Francois Lybaert – http://balat.kikirpa.be/photo.php?path=KM008910&objnr=111806&lang=en-GB&nr=15, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=69789583

Lifted Up

Jesus said to Nicodemus:
“Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, 
so must the Son of Man be lifted up, 
so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.
For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, 
so that everyone who believes in him might not perish 
but might have eternal life.”

John 3:14-21
Late and early came the prophets,
calling us throughout the years.
Loudly came your word and often;
sullenly we stopped our ears.
Now your anger falls upon us;
now we taste the salt of tears.

Yet we know the night is passing:
Darkness falls before the dawn.
Sorrow is not everlasting,
though its years go on and on.
When the land has had its sabbaths,
then will all our tears be gone.

Anger will not last forever:
God will turn to us again.
Mercy will drop down from heaven,
fill our desert with its rain,
pardon seven times and seven,
joy for all our years of pain.

When will we behold that mercy?
When will you forgive us, Lord?
When the king becomes a servant,
robed in sorrow, crowned with thorn,
lifted up like Moses' serpent:
This is how you love the world.

The Brazen Serpent (watercolor circa 1896–1902 by James Tissot) – http://www.wcg.org/images/tissot/tissnake.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7095651 x1952-201, The Brazen Serpent, Artist: Tissot, Photographer: John Parnell, Photo © The Jewish Museum, New York

Rain

I know but this one thing through all
I do or feel or see:
The sun will rise, the rain will fall,
God's grace pour down on me.

For on the unjust and the just
fall mercies without end,
and God, who knows that we are dust,
will pour them out again.

On bad and good he sends the rain,
for good and bad all thirst,
all weep in woe and wail in pain:
Storms find the best and worst.

As I am bad and good, rain falls,
as I am right and wrong.
The voice of God forever calls,
forever sings its song

to draw my evil nearer good,
to strengthen good the more,
and when I fail at what I should,
to heal what I deplore.

I cannot hoard what freely falls
or dam what flows so free.
God, pour it down alike on all,
that it may fall on me!

Raindrops falling on water Here comes rain again By Juni from Kyoto, Japan – Flickr, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=356231