Eucaview

Holy Thursday: Love

Like Peter wanting to wash Jesus' feet, rather than have his own washed by Jesus, George Herbert's poem "Love" describes Love as the host requiring us to surrender to love's hospitality when we feel unlovely.

Here is the poem (which I found from Peggy Rosenthal's Praying the Gospels through Poetry). We used in place of a 'prayer of thanksgiving' before our communion meal at church tonight:

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,

guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

from my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,

if I lacked anything.

“A guest,” I answered, “worthy to be here.”

Love said, “You shall be he.”

“I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,

I cannot look on thee.”

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,

“Who made the eyes but I?”

“Truth, Lord, but I have marred them; let my shame

go where it doth deserve.”

“And know you not,” says Love, “who bore the blame?”

“My dear, them I will serve.”

“You must sit down,” says love, “and taste my meat.”

So I did sit and eat.

The image of Jesus as Host is from "The Last Supper" at the Eastcatholic Church in Hridky in Slovakia

Marcus Curnow's Last Good Word

The last word for my wrap up of the Forge intensive can go to Urban Seed's Marcus Curnow who delivered the closing blessing at our worship service Sunday night. It's not often that the benediction is the highlight of a worship service (and I don't mean those times the service has entered its third uncomfortable, boring hour and the benediction is more of a decree of liberation than a 'decree of liberation' - if you know what I mean.) Here are his closing words but click on the link for the full text:

You are the body of Christ!

Christ has no body here on earth but yours!
Christ has no hands but yours.
Christ has no feet but yours.
Christ has no butt but yours!

So get it up off your seat.
Dwelt it, tabernacle it, pitch it, move it into the neighbourhood, hit the street with it.

And may God the Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer of all bodies go with you.
Amen

Ash Wednesday Poem: Lord, hush this ego

Vassar Miller was an American poet who lived 1924-1998. She published many volumes of poetry, which often reflected her strong faith. She also edited "Despite This Flesh" a collection of poems and short stories exploring disability - including her own cerebral palsy . In 1961 she was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.

I used an extract from one of her poems "Love's Bitten Tongue" as the Ash Wednesday meditation at the recent Taste of Liquid conference. The poem is a cycle of sonnets that ends with a reflection on what Jesus didn't say when he was on the cross. It begins with this sonnet focussing on what we need to not say and summed up how I often need to approach meditation:

Lord, hush this ego as one stops a bell

clanging, cupping it softly in the palm.

Should it make music, silence it as well,

for there's no difference when one wants calm

of silence from the ego's loud tinnitus

buzzing in spirit's ear with no releif,

with every reverence a false hiatus

which brings those moments I name prayer to grief,

tempts me to think I better honor them

by turning away from prayer as I did once.

So my thoughts, snared by their own stratagem,

like balls that children toss aside, all bounce

in my head back and forth until despair

of praying may, in mercy, become prayer.