Showing posts from April, 2011

i bloody hate that story

i've been thinking this a bit last night and today. 'that story' being the story of Jesus' arrest, trial, beating, humiliation, and crucifixion. i commented on facebook this week that i was ready for good friday - for worship at least, if not for what the story would do to me.
it's made me feel sick.

sick with the anguish of Jesus' prayer in the garden - the struggle to find the courage to continue with God's way of love, God's call on his life, even to the point of death; feeling alone and far from God; being terrified; being humiliated and beaten; the desertion and betrayal of his closest friends.

sick with sorrow and grief and shame that this was the world's response to God's way of love.

sick with anger that we keep doing this to each other, humans, beat each other, treat each other with gross injustice, violence, inhumanity.

i bloody hate this story.
the story of good friday.
this story that is so hard to tell, to hear, to enter again.

but …

working on writing

recently I attended a workshop as part of a series I am also helping to lead for the Centre for Music, Liturgy and the Arts. I was thinking I wouldn't have time to stay the whole day, but once I got there and we got into the work, I found a day out to give time to my writing craft was just what I needed, so I stayed.
I wrote a couple of things, and share them here to honour the day and the gift it was.

this stuff comes out of a series of exercises on writing about an apple...
first up I wrote a poem

ode to my lunchtime apple

polished green lumpy Australian
your sight and smell remind
me of perfume, a gift,
and the giver - sister friend

I lick my lips –
delicious anticipation
of your crispy wet temptation
through the sharp shine of your
speckled skin
spray sticky spit – blink –
wince at the sweet and sour

tongue fights with skin stuck
in teeth
juice dribbles from my mouth
healthy delight

then we had a go at horror ...

in the early morning, so early it was almost night, s…