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(Tune: Have you seen my bonny lad? Northumbrian trad.)
John 20 vv 11 -18‘Tell, if you know where my Lord is laid,’
cries Mary, heart torn with grieving.
The Gardener looks on, his heart filled with love.
But sorrow stops Mary believing.‘O Mary, it’s me!’ the stranger replies,
‘Can you not see through your grieving?
A while I was gone, but now I return.
Dry all your warm tears, start believing.’‘Lord, I believe, I understand now;
(the power of death was deceiving),
and doubt and despair are things of the past:
now I can live truly believing.’When life is filled with darkness and fear,
the heart is weighed down with grieving;
the Gardener is near; he calls us by name
and leads us through doubt to believing.Easter has come, the garden’s in bloom,
Spring leaps from its winter grieving.
We rise again with our risen Lord,
new power for living, receiving.© Stuart J Brock 2008
He spoke my name.
That was how I knew it was him.
No-one ever said my name
like that, before, or since.
I’d had to get out of the city –
the claustrophobic confines
of the upper room, the sombre
atmosphere, forced conversation,
drove me mad; so I stumbled
down the outside stair onto
the quiet paving stones below
and followed my feet.I wasn’t aware of where I was heading
but found myself back in the garden.
I hadn’t meant to go there
yet when I reached the place I thought
at least I’d be doing something;
replacing the spices, re-arranging
the grave clothes, anything
to keep me close to him.
Then I remembered the stone,
the huge boulder blocking the way,
sealed with Caesar’s insignia,
ringed round with Roman guards.I couldn’t bear to turn back,
empty hearted, now I’d come so close,
so I pressed on, hoping against hope
for a miracle, just a small something –
a kindly guard, or friendly passer-by –
so I could see him just once more,
at peace. Not like the last time:
barely cold, broken, lying
in his anguished mother’s arms
as we struggled to do the right thing
and prepare his battered body
before the Sabbath curfew began.But when I reached the tomb – nothing!
No seal, no stone, no body;
an empty shell with no-one inside.
Oh God! Don’t say they’ve taken him,
defiled in death the body of the Man
I loved; who loved me, and all who
followed, with the passionate love of God.I looked around frantically and,
in the distance, I espied a figure
in the burgeoning daylight, silhouetted
by the brightening rays of early sun.
Thank God! The gardener.
I hastened to him, falling at his feet:
‘Oh Sir,’ I said, ‘If you know
who has taken him, tell me,
so I can go and get him.’And then I heard my name,
spoken, as if I’d never heard it before:
‘Mary!’ and I knew. In that moment
I knew everything.
He gently prised my grasping hands
aside and raised me to my feet,
and bade me tell the others
he would see them, back in Galilee.He spoke my name.
And all my world was filled with joy –
the joy of a new beginning.
© Carol Dixon 2008
It was the lad – John – who saw him first;
we were too busy hanging onto the bulging net to notice him,
and maybe just a bit resentful at a stranger on the shore
telling us our business.
‘It’s him’, he said. ‘Who?’ I asked, as I straightened up.
‘It’s the Lord, who else?’ he replied,
with a grin too wide for his face.
I shaded my eyes against the low dawn light and stared
and my heart leapt – and froze – within my chest.
I grabbed my garments and plunged over the side of the boat,
sinking to waist level in the waves as I had before
when he’d called me to come to him across the water.
Struggling up the shingle I fell in a heap at his feet
and he grabbed my hands as he had the other time
and hauled me up till we were eye to eye.
The others arrived, bustling up the beach, bringing fish
to lay on the fire beside the little loaves already baking there.
‘Come and eat’ he said as he broke and shared the feast.Afterwards when everyone was sated and settled
he looked at me across the fire. ‘Walk with me’, he said
and we set off along the shoreline.
‘Simon, do you love me more than these?’ he asked
indicating the others sprawled out on the sand.
‘Yes Lord,’ I answered automatically. ‘You know I love you.’
‘Feed my flock’, he said.
A little further on he asked again: ‘Simon do you love me?’
(Why does he call me Simon? My name is Peter – the Rock
- the name he gave me himself.) Not much of a rock-man now,
haunted as I was by my denial and desertion,
as he went to his death.‘Yes, Lord,’ I said again. ‘You know I love you.’
‘Look after my lambs,’ he said.
And then, O agony, he asked a third time:
‘Simon, do you love me?.
He gazed into my tear-filled eyes, my tear-filled heart,
my tear-filled soul and we were back in the courtyard
beside another fire. ‘Lord, you know everything’ I cried.
‘You know I love you.’
‘Lead my sheep,’ he said, and smiled
and the sun rose in the sky, and the sea shimmered,
and the world was wonderful.I looked back and saw the lad was following.
‘What about him, Lord?’ I asked.
He turned, regarding John with that look of love
reserved for children and for all pure hearted ones.
‘Not your concern,’ he chided gently.
‘You, you follow me.’
And I did.
to the end….So can you.
© Carol Dixon 2005
The Garden
‘Very early on Sunday morning, just after sunrise,’ [Mark 16: 2]
He watched the trees wafting
in the early morning breeze
and thought of the other garden
where it had all started.In some ways, the pain and
anguish of the rejection
and betrayal was more acute
than the physical agony
of the Cross. He recalled
he had begun to suspect
all was not well but,
even to the end, he shook off
his uneasiness as he would
shake a dead fly from his arm.
And when at last the truth
became apparent, he felt
as though his heart was
being torn from his living body.Even after he accepted
the cup,
the felt excruciated
and sick inside and,
as you sink your nails
into your palms to relieve
a deeper, gnawing pain
so the scourging
and its torturous aftermath
were almost a mitigation.
And when he cried to his Father
from the Cross, it was not
for his for his broken body
but to ease his aching heart.Therefore, in this awakening garden,
he breathed the fresh auroral air;
the long, dark night was over:
it was a beautiful morning.
Watcher on the shore
‘There stood Jesus on the beach; but the disciples did not know it was Jesus.’ [John 21: 4]
Sitting on the shore
watching the boats,
he reflected on past
events. He’d had a good
three years – the best
and, no matter what
the future held, nothing
could take that away
from him, or them.He regarded them more
closely; hearing their
muted curses across the still
water he recognised how
frustrated they must be –
experienced fishermen
that they were – working
all night without success;
perhaps they wished they
were back to catching men!He looked at the sea
again and saw the dark
shadow of a shoal on the
starboard side of the boat.
How simple and clear cut
everything was when viewed
from a distance, removed
from the involvement of it all.To be able to look on
with detachment while still
caught up and caring
about the task in hand;
that was the answer –
the God’s-eye view.‘Cast your nets on the
other side,’ he called
and stirred the fire
to cook the breakfast
they were bringing in.Carol Dixon 2008
Read: John 20 v 26-31 Jerusalem Bible
I’ve just spent the worst fortnight of my life!
Everything was wonderful – then it fell apart.
That last supper with Jesus was something special,
despite the undercurrents of unease
and the usual bickering over which one of us –
his closest friends – would be the greatest.
Well we all failed that one spectacularly I can tell you.
Judas most of all. I still can’t understand why he did it –
betraying Jesus to the authorities.
Peter didn’t come out of it too well either –
denying he ever knew him.
I must admit though at least Peter had the guts to go
with John to the trial (if you can call it that –
stitch-up more like). The rest of us just scattered.I couldn’t follow him to the Cross,
seeing the Lord we loved reduced
to a tortured, bleeding lump of humanity.
The stench of sweat and excrement –
of death, hanging in the air.
But it wasn’t that I couldn’t stand.
I suppose I could have steeled myself
to watch his stretched out agony,
the pain of listening to them taunting him,
the embarrassment of his being killed as a common felon.
No, it was his love I couldn’t bear.
Still loving to the end. Loving them – his enemies;
loving us – his unfaithful friends. Loving me.And afterwards – it was all we talked about
in the upper room; every sordid detail,
over and over again. Then on the Sunday
that madwoman from Magdala came in with such a tale.
She’d seen him, talked to him, touched him.
I couldn’t take it in. I just cut and ran.
When I got back the rest of them were at it.
“You’ve just missed him,” they said. “He’s been here.
We gave him the leftovers from supper.”
I thought they were having me on at first.
Then I realised they meant it. I told them straight.
“You’re all crazy. I’ll never believe it –
not unless I can put my finger in the nail holes
and stick my hand in the wound in his side.”
And I turned my back on it and walked out.Carol Dixon 2006
Carol Dixon 2005
From Worship Live no. 22 - with permission
Words and music by Simon Dixon
Tune: Silent Witness -Handel (Have you not seen my lady?)
Lord we have seen you walking
The garden at dewy dawning;
Lord we have heard you talking
As birdsongs greet the morning;
And Lord we have met you living
Where once we thought you dead;
And we rejoice to find you
Blessing the broken bread.
Lord we have seen you caring
For those who were filled with sorrow;
Lord we have heard you sharing
Your hope for a new tomorrow;
And Lord we have felt you filling
Our lives with your love divine,
And we receive your new life
As we share bread and wine.Carol Dixon 2004
Tune: Slane
Come to my table,
Be nourished, be fed.
Eat with me, drink with me,
Body and bread.
Blood spilleth over.
For you it was shed.
Come to my table,
Be nourished, be fed.Come to my side children
Come to my heart.
You are forgiven,
And loved as you are.
My bread sustains you,
My blood carries far,
And banishes darkness,
Bringing light where you are.Come to me, come to me,
Take up your cross.
Grace will endure.
You will not suffer loss.
Die with me, rise with me,
Mine is the cost.
Come to me, come to me,
Never be lost.Mandi Young 2004
Christ Jesus lay in death's strong bands
Without death there can be
No resurrection.
We thank you, Father, for the
Sacrifice of your Son
Who is alive and with us and is also at your right hand.
We thank you, Father, that
Like Jesus
We can look forward to
The victory of life when the rule of
Death is ended.Christ is the Lamb
Our joy, our warmth, our light
Forever shining on us
To give us His Grace
So we can bring His light
Into the darkness to end
The night of sin.We thank you, Father, that
We can feast on the one
True bread of heaven
And for our faith which
Is in Christ alone
Dependant on no other.Alleluia! Amen.
Nick Percival 2004
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