The Little Friar

Upon the dawn of Resurrection's day, When darkness fled before the rising sun, A tomb laid bare, where once the Savior lay, The victory of life and love begun. No stone could hold Him, nor the grave's embrace, For death itself was conquered by His might. In radiant glory, clothed in heavenly grace, He emerged triumphant from the depths of night. The world rejoiced, the heavens sang with praise, As hope and joy flooded each waiting heart. For in His rising, all our sins He did erase, And promised that from Him we'd never part. So let us lift our voices high and sing, Of Christ the Lord, our Savior and our King.

In the hush before the dawn's first blush of gold, Where shadows dance in darkness, stories untold, A world in slumber stirs, awaiting the day, As nature's chorus sings its dawn's display. Above the horizon, where heavens meet earth, The sun, with gentle grace, announces its birth. A symphony of colors, a palette so grand, Paints the sky with hues, as if by God's hand. On Easter morn, when the world is reborn, In the quiet of dawn, a promise sworn, The earth awakens with a joyous song, As nature joins the chorus, loud and strong. From mountaintop to valley low, Creation's voice begins to flow. The birds take flight, the flowers bloom, As life bursts forth from winter's tomb. In every blade of grass, in every tree, The heartbeat of the universe, wild and free. The rivers sing, the oceans roar, As Easter's tale is told once more. For on this day, a miracle unfurled, The greatest story ever told to the world. From death to life, from dark to light, Easter's...

"All our life is a festival.  Since we are persuaded that God is present everywhere on all sides, we praise God as we till the ground, we sing hymns as we sail the sea, we feel God's inspiration in all that we do ...  Whenever we pay attention to God, every place and every time becomes truly holy." -- Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis 7.7.39. "So the whole of our lifetime is a festival.  For when Paul said, 'Let us keep the feast' [1 Corinthians 5.7-8], he wasn't referring to the Passover or Pentecost.  He was pointing out that all time is a festival for Christians ...  For what good thing has not already come to pass?  The Son of God was made human for you.  He freed you from death and called you to a kingdom.  Now that you have gained such good things -- and are still gaining them -- how can you do anything less than 'keep the feast' all your life?  So let no one be downcast about poverty or illness or the cunning of enemies.  It is a ...

      Upon this Holy Saturday, we wait, In silence deep, with hearts subdued and still, The world in solemn pause, anticipates The promise of the dawn, the heavenly will.       In quiet contemplation, we reflect On mysteries profound, beyond our ken, The darkness of the tomb, the soul's defect, Yet hope arises, like a distant glen.       For in this hallowed space of sacred rest, We sense the stirring of the Divine breath, A whisper in the silence, manifest, A harbinger of life beyond the death. So let us keep this vigil, steadfast, sure, Awaiting resurrection's light, so pure.

He is despised and rejected of men.  Isaiah liii.3. Is it not strange, the darkest hour That ever dawn’d on sinful earth Should touch the heart with softer power For comfort than an angel’s mirth? That to the Cross the mourner’s eye should turn Sooner than where the stars of Christmas burn? Sooner than where the Easter sun Shines glorious on yon open grave, And to and fro the tidings run, “Who died to heal, is risen to save?” Sooner than where upon the Saviour’s friends The very Comforter in light and love descends? Yet so it is: for duly there The bitter herbs of earth are set, Till temper’d by the Saviour’s prayer, And with the Saviour’s life-blood wet, They turn to sweetness, and drop holy balm, Soft as imprison’d martyr’s deathbed calm. All turn to sweet — but most of all That bitterest to the lip of pride, When hopes presumptuous fade and fall, Or Friendship scorns us, duly tried, Or Love, the flower that closes up for fear When rude and selfish spirits breathe too near. Then ...

In the stillness of this solemn Good Friday night, The church, stripped bare, stands in reverent repose, As shadows deepen, and stars softly alight, We feel the weight of sorrow, as darkness grows. Gone are the candles' flickering flames, The altar cloth removed, the chalice bare, Symbolizing Christ's sacrificial aims, His agony, his suffering, his love to share. No more adornment, no pomp or display, Just the rawness of truth, stripped to the core, In this barrenness, we humbly pray, Embracing the silence, longing for more. For in the stripping of the church, we find, A deeper understanding, a truth enshrined.

Upon this Maundy Thursday, shadows fall, As evening casts its solemn, quiet veil, A time when echoes of the ancient call Resound within the sanctuary's pale. The table set, simple bread and wine, Remind us of the sacrifice to come, Of love transcendent, poured like sacred brine, In humble service, not of martyrdom. For on this night, the Master bowed to wash The feet of those who followed in his way, A gesture of humility, not to squash, But to uplift and teach how to obey. So let us in this moment deeply dwell, And serve each other, as his words compel.

The focus of the Gospel for Holy Wednesday (John 13.21-32) is on the betrayal of Judas.  For this reason, it is sometimes called Spy Wednesday. Spy Wednesday, whispered secrets in the air, Betrayer's shadow cast upon the scene. Judas, his conscience heavy with despair, For silver's gleam, he sold his soul, unclean. In shadows deep, the plot begins to weave, A tragic tale of love and treachery. The Master's fate, the mournful hearts believe, Yet hope still blooms amidst the dark and eerie. The table set, the bread and wine they share, A final supper 'neath the evening sky. The weight of destiny, they cannot bear, Yet through it all, redemption's light draws nigh. Spy Wednesday tells of human frailty, But through the darkness, shines divinity. -- Spy Wednesday 2024

In supper's quiet, shadows draped the room, As friends around the table gathered near, Yet in their midst, foreboding sense of gloom, As whispered words revealed a heart sincere. "Betrayed by one among you," Jesus said, A heavy truth that pierced the evening air, A moment fraught with tension, fear, and dread, For one would falter in the tempter's snare. Peter, bold and brash, declared his loyalty, Though warned of faltering, thrice he denied, Yet in his weakness, found humility, Redemption's promise could not be denied. In John's recount, a tale of love and loss, Where faith is tested, and grace bears the cross. --based on John 13.21-38

In the somber shadows of Good Friday's eve, Where darkness falls, and hearts do grieve, A solemn ode to naked truth I weave, In the hush of night, where sorrows cleave. Behold the naked truth, stripped bare, Exposed to the world, devoid of care, Innocence shrouded, no garments to wear, On the cross, humanity's burden to bear. In darkness, the world finds its repose, As anguish deepens, and sorrow grows, The weight of sin, like a heavy throes, Upon the soul, where despair flows. In the absence of light, we seek a sign, A glimmer of hope, a sacred design, Yet, in the darkness, we must align, With the path of redemption, divine. Good Friday's tale, a story profound, Where nakedness and darkness are crowned, Yet, in this despair, grace is found, As love's eternal light does astound. So let us ponder in this sacred hour, The depth of mercy, the saving power, For in the darkness, blooms love's flower, On Good Friday, in solemn dower.

In ancient streets where dust and shadows play, Jerusalem, cradle of faith and strife, Amidst the clamor, sorrow found its way, As Jesus wept o'er the tumult of life. His eyes beheld the city's ancient walls, Yet saw beyond the stone, the heart laid bare, For in its streets, where fervent fervor calls, He sensed the burden of despair and care. "Oh, Jerusalem, how oft would I gather Thy children, as a hen her brood, in love, But ye would not, and now the shadows gather, The tears I shed, a symbol from above. For in this sacred city, strife and pain, Yet love's eternal light still strives to reign."

A student asked:  "If we are saved by grace, and not by works, why do you put so much stress on ascetic practices as essential to the Christian life?  Why should it be necessary, or even useful, to fast as we do, to make countless confessions during Lent, to stand at certain points in worship, to donate so much money to the Church?"  (This last one -- well, it requires some context.  I tell students preparing for ministry that money, especially tithing, is an important part of pastoral spiritual discipline precisely because our culture is uniquely economically driven.  Three things will destroy a ministry in minutes -- money, sex, and power.  Money is the most neglected in conversations about ministerial spirituality.)  Then he went on:  "Aren't all these things works?  And what happens if I don't do them?  Am I cast out of the Kingdom and basically condemned to hell?" Okay, those are real questions that demand real answers.  And I ...