Lent Poems: Good Friday - The Dream of the Rood translated by Richard Hammer

I have previously given a shout out to Jim Deeds my fellow "Wonderful Wanderer" for the beautiful little hand cross he carved from cherry wood from my native east Belfast, (which I subsequently learned came from a tree colloquially named by after a fellow pupil in my eldest son's class at school by her family because it usually blossomed on her birthday - making it even more precious, reminding me of many different connections between family and friends.) It has subsequently inspired me to both write a poem and carve a linocut, and it is a constant source of grounding to me as I have grasped it in difficult Zoom meetings over the past month or so. It has spoken to me in many ways.

Anglo-Saxon and medieval literature is peppered with pieces that give voice to all manner of creatures and inanimate objects in ways that seem almost surreal, but is probably grounded in the greater awareness then of people's connection with the physical world around them that we could do with rediscovering.

The poem I have selected for today's reading is actually reckoned to be one of the earliest pieces of poetry we have in English, or rather its Anglo-Saxon precursor, coming from the 8th century, preceding the Irish ,St. Patrick's "Lorica" or "The Deer's Cry" that I mentioned earlier in Lent. I'm no more an expert in Anglo-Saxon than I am in Irish, so I am indebted to those who are, and I love this translation of what is a much longer poem (they loved a long ballad to wile away the dark nights by the fire) by Richard Hammer. It gives an interesting perspective on perhaps an over-familiar scene...

Selah.

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LentArt: Washing the Disciples' Feet

Today's #LentArt post is "The washing of the disciples' feet" by Ghislaine Howard, another piece from the wonderful Methodist Modern Art Collection. It has clearly struck a chord with a number of people, and I am delighted that tonight's guest blog is by my friend and fellow 4 Corners Director, Father Martin Magill, who, he will be embarrassed to have me say, is for me the epitome of a servant leader. Indeed it was interesting to have a friend and artist respond to my earlier post saying that this time last year she remembers having her feet washed by Martin... How much has changed in a year: This painting (completed in 2004) was inspired by these words from the gospel of John in today's lectionary: Jesus knew that the Father had delivered all things into His hands, and that He had come from God and was returning to God. So He got up from the supper, laid aside His outer garments, and wrapped a towel around His waist. After that, He poured water ...

Living under the Empire... (2) Where is Babylon?

We were driving back from school last week, talking about books that we had been reading and my younger son, Ciaran, asked me "Where is Babylon?" I have to confess that my history is better than my geography, and I said that it no longer exists as an inhabited city, but its ruins were to the north west of the current capital of Iraq, Baghdad. When I checked however, I discovered that it is actually about 50 miles south of Baghdad and the modern town is the administrative centre of the province of Babil... But just as the modern city is but a shadow of the historic capital of 2 ancient empires, first under Hammurabi in the 18th century BCE and then the "Neo-Babylonian" empire (under Nebuchadnezzar etc) in the 6th century BCE, so the earthly Babylonian empire/s was/were fleeting in comparison to the enduring metaphorical idea of Babylon. The original Empire under Hammurabi was probably the ultimate origin of some of the early Biblical stories, including the ...

A Woman of no Distinction

Don't often post other people's stuff here... But I found this so powerful that I thought I should. It's a performance poem based on John 4: 4-30, and I have attached the original YouTube video below. A word for women, and men, everywhere... "to be known is to be loved, and to be loved is to be known." I am a woman of no distinction of little importance. I am a women of no reputation save that which is bad. You whisper as I pass by and cast judgmental glances, Though you don’t really take the time to look at me, Or even get to know me. For to be known is to be loved, And to be loved is to be known. Otherwise what’s the point in doing either one of them in the first place? I WANT TO BE KNOWN. I want someone to look at my face And not just see two eyes, a nose, a mouth and two ears; But to see all that I am, and could be all my hopes, loves and fears. But that’s too much to hope for, to wish for, or pray for So I don’t, not anymore. Now I keep to myself And by that ...

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