Reflections for

Good Friday, Mar 30, 2018

Isaiah 52:13-53:12; Psalm 22; Hebrews 10:16-25 or Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9; John 18:1-19:42


Glacier Park in August: Grinnell Lake

First, use four similes to describe the lake:
Grinnell Lake is like . . . a threshold
                                     . . . a turquoise
                                     . . . wings arching open
                                     . . . a nest.

At the end of the boardwalk over red-rock streams,
beyond the suspension bridge, the waterfall, the long hike,
my feet on fire empty into the lake:
Icy aqua iridescence, perfection of mountains, these trees.

Now use four metaphors: the lake is . . . reality
                                                               . . . exquisite balance
                                                               . . . a window
                                                               . . . a cup filled with sky.

In the lobby of the grand hotel miles below
hang beautifully framed old photos. Grinnell Glacier,
a wisp above us now, was enormous a century ago,
            its lake many times smaller.

How can we protect the earth but by drawing close, by falling in love?
             The lake is the glacier melting too fast.
             The lake is the waters from Jesus’ pierced side.
             The lake is the face of the love that saves us.
How can we love the earth but by falling . . . in?

On Art

St. Ann Christ (with detail), by Chris Scala

While many artists seek to convey a sense of the layers of suffering and anguish in the Passion of Christ, few consider what the medium itself conveys. This life-sized sculpture appears weightless, and it radiates light and lightness. “In the context of my artworks,” Scala writes, “the use of partially transparent wire fabrics allows the examination of the underlying structure of the subject. By shaping Christ’s image into a hollow form and introducing gold to the surface, the sculpture takes on a transparent and yet reflective character.” 


Jesus is nailed to the cross

One year Marie gave up TV for Lent.
If Jesus Christ could bear His cross, then kite
on it three hours so we’d repent,
sacrifice in return was merely right.
I swore off sweets, only to break my fast
with thieved chocolate, watching Lord of the Flies,
a film exposing my black soul. Aghast,
I rushed to my sister’s room for advice.
She was asleep, my parents too. Spilling
from the TV, English schoolboy savages
marched the house, whetted for blood and killing.
I screamed for Jesus. But His ravages
snared Him, like a film, in cruel depiction—
as if it were my own crucifixion.


Revised Common Lectionary © 1992 the Consultation on Common Texts. Used by permission.