If we had but a glimpse of the world as a resting place would we be caught in the sacred story? Honoured as the whole of life becomes a day of preparation. We might just then become co-creators of the dawn for a divine re-imagining of the lost art and beauty of creation. A life laid fallow, for a time, is not in vain. To let go, to allow the natural restfulness to rise up and with gentle ease, to participate; earthed once again.
Women of the Passion.
Women of the Passion is a series of ten reflections on an image created by Chloe in chalk-pastel. Originally separate, now gathered here in one place to read in sequence.
The second image was the result of a moment’s inspiration and serendipitous sunlight through a window onto the picture.
Who is She?
She represents the women who followed Jesus and provided for him. They remained faithful where others betrayed or fled. Then, unexpectedly became the first witnesses to his rising. But ‘she’ is also is also ‘we’ looking on through the window of the cross to these events from afar.
Will our response be as faithful as that of those women?
You risked it all in a moment of emotion charged with an energy that heightened the senses as perfumed hands, feet, and hair, mingled for a time. Physical touch, in kindness, sorrow and love. Knowing somehow another chance would not come.
Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. John 12:3
Hidden in the half light and shadows, were you desperately seeking the truth with a piercing gaze over firelight? When the courage to speak out was rewarded with a betrayal of the truth.
Then a servant-girl, seeing him in the firelight, stared at him and said, “This man also was with him.” Luke 22:56
Anguished tears flow for a moment passing by for the loss, pain and a fear that grips like cords tightening deep in the soul longing for another turning.
“Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.” Luke 23:28
Huddled together against the jeering and mocking of the condemned, distant but engaged still. You who once sustained now resigned, not powerless but waiting, where others deserted, the faithful remnant.
There were also women looking on from a distance; among them were Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome. Mark 15:40
You, there at the beginning, now at the ending. The sword of sorrow promised for your heart has pierced your soul. In silent loyal vigil receiving a taste of the bitter cup. With gritted teeth ‘according to your word’ comfort to another’s son.
“Woman, here is your son.” John 19:26
Still you follow, unwavering. Quietly you defy authority watching, waiting for the right moment, for swords have no power here. Your peaceful action, begins the silent revolution-echo through the centuries. Keep watch.
The women who had come with him from Galilee followed, and they saw the tomb and how his body was laid. Luke 23:55
On the sabbath they rested according to the commandment. Luke 23:56
You return expectant, of nothing more than the task of loving service to anoint the departed. You who have been there through it all, now in the final moment as the earth turns to the sun in the quietness of the morning after. Suddenly unprepared
And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. Mark 16:2
for the moment you found everything changed confused in disarray both hearts and tomb lay empty before you no place to lay flowers or memorial. What then now but to flee away until, until before you, not stone, but word softly spoken
So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid. Mark 16:8
calling you by name with tears of sadness and joy unburdened now of your first telling the emotions ride out. Nervous whispers permeate gatherings of those who misunderstood for now it begins.
Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. Luke 24:10
If there were a flower for prophecy it
would be the snow-white bells arriving
early in time for Candlemas arrogant
even a brash flower cutting through the
cold earth it comes resilient, hardy.
Beauty beguiles its strength.
Amidst the darkness expectant of the
warmth to come our instinct is to light
candles. An incandescent dream.
Inefficient of light but life enough to stir
the soul into speaking. The snowdrop
harbinger of those who hear the silent
call to defiance of convention.