Poems and Readings for the Watch of the Passion
The Watch of the Passion happens on the night of Maundy Thursday until the morning of Good Friday. Jesus goes to the Garden of Gethsemane and prays. He asks the Disciples,
"Could you not watch with me one hour?"
We, like them, with heavy eyes and tired bodies are invited to spend some time with Jesus as we remember the story of these days.
Poem
In those early days
when no one was around to watch,
you planted the seeds
which would blossom
into sheaves of wheat;
you began to train
grapevines
to curl round
your fingers
so that,
on that last night,
you could take that loaf of
12-grace bread,
breaking it
into a piece of healing
which could
take our shattered lives
and put us back together
as your beloved;
so that,
in that room,
you could take the grapes
of wrath, fear, doubt,
squeezing them through
your breaking heart,
pouring the sweet nectar
of hope, wonder and peace
into such a simple cup
we cannot begin
to understand
the rich complexity
of your love
but only
taste
on this
night.
Thom M Shuman
Slow us down for the fast
Slow us down for the fast
Slow us down for the fast.
Still our restless spirits …
Calm our racing minds …
Centre our being …
Let our longing linger.
Let it take root
and create a beautiful yearning space
that has the time to ache …
Slow us down for the fast.
Silence the siren voices.
Wait for our weary wanting
to meet our need and find common ground …
Hold back the driving beat of our hearts
and let the drums of our internal wars fall silent …
Slow us down for the fast.
Before the journey begins …
Before the wanderlust calls us …
Before the wilderness beckons
and breaks our searching spirits …
Slow us down for the fast.
Sally Foster-Fulton
From St. Augustine
God of our life,
there are days when the burdens we carry
chafe our shoulders and weigh us down;
when the road seems dreary and endless,
the skies grey and threatening;
when our lives have no music in them,
and our hearts are lonely,
and our souls have lost their courage.
Flood the path with light,
run our eyes to where the skies are full of promise;
tune our hearts to brave music;
give us the sense of comradeship with heroes and saints of every age;
and so quicken our spirits
that we may be able to encourage the souls of all
who journey with us on the road of life,
to Your honour and glory.
Augustine
From “The Wasteland”
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience
T.S. Eliot
Links:
The Text of the Passion Story According to Mark
A Video of the Passion Story being read by church members
The Whole Gospel of Mark, read
The text of the Last Supper Story in John
We were, as we willed,
Becoming drunk on good wine,
Sleep ready,
Satisfied
In our own stories.
Heroes, shadowy but longed for,
Made their way to minds engaging memories
Of many gatherings,
But this was none such.
The cold night
Sliced into us
Eyes wide, alert,
No memory of this ending.
We were, willed with all His will
To waken heavy supper eyes,
Willed, willed to answer His request,
To remain today
Willed to follow, to answer, to test
That will which will so easily be broken.
But there will always be tomorrow.
And so, we slept
Dreams far from tears
Bloated dreams of before time
And more time
Not noticing this time
Until they came.
Until the torches and shouts and fear
Filled our ears
Attacked
Our minds searching for some reason
Finding chaos
Darkness
Silence
Before the fast.
Marina Ransom