and so he lives

Happy Easter!

This morning's service went well, even the sketch. It was entitled 'CSI Jerusalem' - you get the picture. Andy and I were investigating the body at the tomb - or should I say the fact that there wasn't one. It was quite fun to do, once I'd got my nerves in hand. My mind doesn't get particularly nervous. If it weren't anatomically impossible I'd say my stomach has a separate mind of its own. It certainly decides to lurch around at a ridiculous rate. Still, having to change jackets and don a pair of yellow marigolds (we didn't have any latex gloves)in the song before distracted me from my stomach, which was helpful.

I can't write much more now; it is time for Rest Stop 3.

I shall leave with a snippet from my favourite Easter song:

And we are raised with Him,
Death is dead, love has won, Christ has conquered;
And we shall reign with Him,
For He lives: Christ is risen from the dead!

Keith Getty & Stuart Townend, 'See what a morning'

Good Friday

Alone now going forth, O Lord,
in sacrifice to die;
is all your sorrow naught to us
who pass unheeding by?

Our sins, not yours, you bear, dear Lord;
make us your sorrow feel,
till through our pity and our shame
love answers love’s appeal.

This is earth’s darkest hour, but you
can light and life restore;
then let all praise be given to you
who lives for evermore.

Grant us to suffer with you, Lord,
that, as we share this hour,
your cross may bring us to your joy
and resurrection power.

Peter Abelard (1079 - 1142)
translation F. Bland Tucker

O cross that raises up my head...

O love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
that in thine ocean depths its flow
may richer, fuller be.

O light that follows all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to thee;
my heart restores its borrowed ray,
that in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
may brighter, fairer be.

O joy that seeks for me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
and feel the promise is not vain
that morn shall tearless be.

O cross that raises up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead
and from the ground there blossoms red
life that shall endless be.

George Matheson (1842—1906)