On the Prospect of Not Celebrating Easter this Year

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On the Prospect of Not Celebrating Easter this Year

Will Christ not rise again

This year

For us?

 

Is he in fact

Still

Dying among us?

In those succumbed

To COVID-19.

 

Or is he

Still

Dead?

Is he in the tomb

With us?

Quarantined from life

Before rising

Infected and decaying

With the virulence

Of toxins?

Of needy-greedy panic

Grabs at shopping shelves?

As panicked voices

Constantly ask questions

What about this?

Or that?

What now?

What now indeed.

 

Will there be no people

As the body of Christ

Holding their candles

Light in the Lord?

Signs that Christ

Has risen

And shines

In us and

Among us?

 

Or are we consigned

To private piety,

In our own place,

So foreign

To genuine faith

That seeks to hold us together

As parts of the body

Of the Risen Lord?

What of this distant,

Isolated,

Seclusion?

Dying alone

In the dark

And waiting

In the tomb?

 

When will we rise?

When shall we hear?

Magdalene’s cry:

“I have seen

The Lord!

And heard his voice!

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 21 March 2020

 


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Cloth Chatter – Easter Triduum Weaving

 

Cloth Chatter – Easter Triduum Weaving

More reflections for Christians beginning the weeks of Easter.

(i)

His undergarment was seamless, so they cast lots for it (John 19:23-24)

I was fashioned to fit

My warp and weft

Wound in ways

To clothe the person.

The cloth maketh for the man.

I held his outer robes

And moved

With his healing hands.

I was a one-person piece

And they cast lots

For me

Like a commodity on the market.

 

(ii)

The veil in the Temple was torn in two (Luke 23:45)

I hung upon the threshold

Like a garment gathering greatness

A robe for the holiest place

Where God’s word reached

Human words

And was kept.

I held the holy in

And halted the passage

Of peoples coming into this sanctuary space.

At the Saviour’s final breath

I broke

In two

Both adorning the sanctuary

And opening

Like two arms

To welcome people into the holy.

No more a barrier

For the Saviour’s passing over

And now an entry point

For human

And divine.

 

(iii)

Saw the linen cloths on the ground, and also the cloth that had been over his head (John 20:6-7)

We held the battered body

One that had fashioned furniture

Fished with fisher disciples

Healed the sick

Broken bread and

Passed the cup.

We lined the lifeless body

In the cool, dark tomb

Holding the oils and spices

Upon the fragile flesh.

Now discarded

We are

On the ground

Back down to earth

Our role complete

We are now

A notion towards a mystery:

“Where is the Lord?”

 

(iv)

Do not cling to me (John 20:17)

I felt her touch

Urgent and inquisitive

Wondering

“Is it true?”

“Is it you, O Lord?”

As I held him in his new life

There was a quickening

So new

He was very alive

And love

Emanated from he

To her

And from her

As she ran

To share.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 20 April 2019

 

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The Preacher on the Clydesdale on Palm Sunday Night

The Preacher on the Clydesdale on Palm Sunday Night

Bullocks

In Barellan NSW there is a Clydesdale Festival each year. They have teams of bullocks and horses and it is a great day out!  This poem was prepared for a school assembly at Barellan Central School to celebrate Easter.  The idea was to make the Christian Palm Sunday connect with Barellan Clydesdales, Barellan Beer and country life.

The Preacher on the Clydesdale on Palm Sunday Night

When you go to bed at night,

And close your eyes, switch off the light;

Tuck up the bedclothes real tight,

For when the dreamtime comes.

The dreams come even in Holy Week,

When sleepy mouths do not speak;

And we never in the darkness peak,

So as not to disturb the dreamtime.

I heard a dream a while ago,

Something about a horsey show;

And a preacher, none who we would know!

Was one of the main characters.

It tells of a night within the calm,

A horse came up but did not harm,

Any person waving a palm,

On that Palm Sunday night.

In that week that we all call Holy,

There’s a story of Preacher Foley,

Who came a riding a Clydesdale foalie,

All the way in to town.

The people stood out on the street,

Waving their palms and tapping their feet,

To the beat of hoofen feet,

And of Foley astride his mount.

There was no donkey, mule or ass,

That the preacher could find after Mass,

So, to cheer up lad and lass,

He came upon a Clydesdale.

But that’s the way these Holy Days,

To celebrate Easter in Barellan ways,

For those olden times of gigs and drays,

Are what will steal the show.

As Foley’s Clydesdale came up near,

The crowd they gave a mighty cheer!

One said: “Get ‘im a Barellan Beer!”

As he trotted by.

He trotted past the young and old,

The aloof, shy ones and the bold,

He touched the hearts both warm and cold,

Bringing to all his cheer.

A kelpie’s bark made Foley look back,

But his plucky Clydesdale had the knack,

To keep his head upon the track,

And no one came to harm.

So the message of Christ’s great trip,

Along Jerusalem’s royal strip,

Still managed to find a grip,

In peoples’ hearts that day.

If you can’t find ass, donkey or mule,

Don’t worry, you can play it cool,

Get a Clydesdale to come past the school,

For Palm Sunday Barellan Style.

Simon C.J. Falk           31 March 2015

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