News Update

I am currently working on a new writing project. The provisional title is 'Covenant Journey' and it is based on the story of the exodus. This blog was originally set up for the gospel stories and named accordingly, so it did not seem appropriate to post these new stories here.

However I know they will be likely to have the same readership.  

I did look at the possibility of using another blog, but decided in the end that it would be better to have a single editable website for all my writing. I am now in the process of getting this created and will be taking this blog down as soon as it is ready to go live. This should be within the week, but knowing how things are I would not be surprised if it is slightly longer. 

There will be a link left here for some time after the new site is ready.

ETA: Sorry, forgot to add the link....

Covenant Journey is currently in its own blog at http://covenantjourney.blogspot.com/

A hand stretched out.

When the women came and said the tomb was empty John and I ran. All the way. I don't know what he was expecting, or hoping but for me it wasn't so much a thought as a simple knowledge of 'That is where you must be, where you need to be.' We didn't discuss it, we heard the news and simply both took off. John got there before I did, and as I approached I saw him stood at the entrance to the tomb, the great stone pushed to the side, the guard gone.

John hadn't entered the tomb, but I had to. I went right in, up to the place where they had laid my Lord. I saw the strips of linen and the burial cloth that Joseph had wrapped around his head. They all lay, still, empty, used, neatly laid side by side with the burial cloth folded at the top. I reached out a hand, stopping just short of picking them up. There was no need to take them, he wasn't there. John had followed me and now he looked at me with shining eyes, a real hope alive in them.
“Do you realise Peter, he is alive. Jesus was dead and is alive. He must be alive.”

He believed it and rejoiced. He had nothing to fear. John had been in the High Priests courtyard and at the foot of the cross. He was a better man than me, he deserved to be here, he deserved to see this. I didn't, and yet, I had also felt compelled to come; been sure that this was where I needed to be. We stood for a few moments before making our way back into the city in a daze.
I had never felt so odd. I didn't know what to feel, what I wanted to feel, what I ought to feel or simply what I did feel. There was something about that moment, as if we were stood right on the edge of something. A something so new, so big that it would make even these last few years seem like just a preparation. I was eager, excited, wanting to jump forward right into it. Yet at the same time, I knew that this could now never be for me. I had given up all right to be part of whatever was going to happen when I denied knowing Jesus. I was just hoping that maybe, possibly I could now at least express my sorrow before going back to fishing.

I believed that somehow Jesus was alive. How or where or why was beyond me, but the tomb was empty. Jesus was alive. I also knew very clearly that I would have to meet him once more, would have to let those eyes that saw so much more look deep into mine and know what I had done. There would be no hiding, and I didn't want to hide any more. I just wanted it over. And I was afraid. Not afraid of being thrown out, I expected and deserved that. I was afraid of seeing his face. Afraid of that look of compassion. Afraid of seeing I had caused him pain and afraid of letting him see my pain. I could see now what I was really like underneath all my bluster and I was afraid that once exposed that would never go away. I wanted to hold onto the pain and the fear in case letting go of them was worse. I wanted to see Jesus once again more than anything in the world; and I wanted to run away back to Galilee and hide from him, both at the same time.

And then he was there. In the room with us. One moment we were all sat, lost in our thoughts and the next he was stood there right in the middle of us. There was no question about who he was, if he was real, if he was alive. Life was oozing from him. He was not only alive, but he seemed to be the very definition of life. I fell to my knees. How could I look at him? I was vaguely aware of the others speaking to him, but then for a moment it was just him and me.

Time stood still. A lifetime passed as I knelt and he stood in front of me. I was past weeping, past despair, past putting anything into words. I could feel his gaze on my head and as I heard him say my name I lifted my head and let him look right within me. He looked in my eyes for what seemed like forever, holding my gaze and tearing me apart with the compassion in his eyes. I didn't need to say anything, he could see it all. Then the most wondrous of all, he reached out his hand in invitation.

My Lord, the one I had denied, the one I watched die, was now reaching out his hand to me. I could see the nail marks, the scars still vivid. I reached out and was swept to my feet. There was laughing, there was rejoicing. All of us were amazed and shouting our praise to God because he had raised Jesus from the dead; but I had double cause to celebrate. Jesus was dead and is now alive and no matter what I had done, he still choose to reach out those nail scared hands to me and lift me to my feet.

I can breath. I can relax. The weight and the darkness is gone. I can laugh, I can sing, I can dance. I am forgiven. Completely and totally forgiven.

This story can be found at John ch20 v1-22
Further explanation of how to have your own Meeting with Jesus can be found online here.

Copyright Carolyn Phillips2008 All Rights Reserved.

Failure

Peter the loud-mouth. Peter the coward. Peter the betrayer. That's how they'll remember me. I deserve it as well. Running away wasn't enough for me, oh no, I had to say I'd never even met Jesus didn't I?

Never met. I'd spent three years with him. If anyone knew who he was then it was me. I'd been his follower right from the start, from the time he came down to the lake and went fishing with us. I saw him perform miracles. I heard him teach. He even sent us out to do similar things, and when we told sickness to go in his name it did! I saw him transformed, meeting with Moses and Elijah. I heard the voice of God saying that this was his Son. There is no excuse for me, I knew who he was. I had even said it before. He was the Christ.

I was pleased to be his follower. Proud to know I was one he had chosen. Even prouder to be one of the closer few who got chosen for things like being with him when he went to pray. I was Peter the big shot. Peter who walked on water. Peter who would never fail him, never deny him, be willing to die for him. Oh I said it all, all the proud declarations about what I would give up for him, how I would follow him anywhere and then I fail at the very first test.

Maybe if we had spoken up, been willing to be witnesses to what he had done and said then he would still be here. But we didn't. We left him to die. I thought I was being ever so bold and wonderful, managing to mingle with the crowd unrecognised and follow them back to the High Priests home. But as soon as I was in the courtyard, in the light of the fire and people began to ask questions it was different. At first it was a simple “No, I wasn't with him.” but as more of the servants pushed me I went on to say I didn't even know him and then finally to call down all manner of curses on myself to make them believe that I really did not know 'this Jesus'.

That was when the cock crowed and I remembered how earlier that evening Jesus had said I would deny knowing him and I had more or less laughed in his face. The cock crow was like a knife in my gut, twisting and turning. I felt sick and icy cold despite the fire. I ran out of the courtyard, not caring who saw now, and without looking where my feet led, into a dark forgotten corner where I fell to the floor, crying, weeping like I would never stop. This was the Christ, the man who...who...was everything... and I had denied knowing him.

It was morning when I stopped weeping, and again I got caught up in the crowd. I didn't have to ask what was happening, the gossip seemed to hang in the air. They were going to crucify him. They were going to take my Lord and nail him to a wooden cross and hang him there until he was dead. And I had said I didn't know him.

I followed. I made myself watch and I saw each blow, saw the tendons, nerves, muscles, bone all break as the massive nails were hammered through. I felt each blow, and wished it was me. I was the one who deserved it. I retched, but still looked on. I didn't want to spare myself any of it. This was the start of my self inflicted punishment, making myself watch every agonising moment. John and some of the women were closer to the foot of the cross. They were able to hear what Jesus said, were able to speak what I presumed were words of comfort. I didn't allow myself that. I couldn't let him see me there, I couldn't face him and I didn't deserve the privilege of hearing his dying words.

It took three hours. I stood there watching for every minute of them. Then, when it was over I left. Alone. I don't know what to do now. I don't really care. I will have to face the others at some point. Let them say what they will. It doesn't matter. I suppose I'll end up as I began, fishing on the lake. Nothing matters any more. I denied Jesus and now he is dead. There is no way I can ever put that right.

This story can be found at Matthew ch26 v69-75
Copyright Carolyn Phillips 2008. All rights reserved.

Note: It will be mid to late afternoon before the Easter Sunday post is made.

The Longest Day

This has been the longest day of my life. I knew it was going to be hard, but I didn't expect it to happen like this. I thought for a long time that there would be a way out, even that God would intervene and put an end to the madness. But that didn't happen. It's over. Everything is over and done with. Finished.

I wonder if there will be any morning. If we have really killed our Messiah, will we wake, will the world still be here? Is it possible that the sun will rise and set as before?

You will know what has happened, everyone does. It's been impossible to be in Jerusalem this Passover and not have heard of Jesus of Nazareth. The whole nation has been talking about him for the last few years and of recent months it has been intense. I'm a member of the council, the Sanhedrin and the 'Jesus Problem' has been raised at every meeting. Finally the High Priest had said that is better for one man to die than the entire nation. He was certain that the way things were going the Romans would be withdrawing any tolerances they had shown towards our worship.

I couldn't believe that they meant to order his arrest, but was wary enough to talk to a friend of mine, Nicodemus. I wondered if Jesus should be warned and knowing Nicodemus to be a follower of his thought he may be able to speak a word in the right place. Nicodemus didn't seem to think it necessary, he said that he thought Jesus knew exactly what he was doing and then almost to himself said “Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the son of Man must be lifted up”. He shook his head and refused to be pushed further, but I gather it was something Jesus had said to him.

I wish I had done something more. Maybe if I had spoken up in council then others would have done so to. I didn't realise who he was though. I knew he was a preacher, a healer, a prophet, that he had to be sent by God. I didn't realise until it was too late that he was our Messiah. It seems that none of us did and now it is too late, we have missed our chance.
I saw it all, from beginning to end and for my sins will never forget any of it, from the time the mob dragged him into the High Priests courtyard through to the end.

He was brought in bound, and already some bruises were beginning to show. He had obviously been pushed around by the mob, although he seemed quite calm and witnesses said he had come willingly. The High Priest and his officials questioned him about his teachings but he refused to defend himself, saying that he had always taught in public and many would testify to what he had said. In the end though there was nothing they could do. They could order him flogged, but could not have him executed, and now, in the middle of the night, in darkness, it was clear that was the desire. To be rid of someone who scared them, made them uncomfortable and confronted them with the sin they pretended not to have. To get rid of him they had to involve the Romans.

By now it was approaching dawn and this presented the council with a new problem. They wanted this finished before the main Passover celebration, but in order to maintain their own ritual cleanliness they couldn't actually enter the Palace of the governor. If the matter hadn't been life and death it would have been farcical. They handed Jesus over to the guards on the gates and then stood outside discussing the matter with the Governor, Pilate, who leaned over the balcony to speak with them. A crowd gathered, made up mainly of those who had been in on the arrest the night before. This was not being dealt with by a council or a court any more, but by two men, a Roman and a Jew both playing to the mob.

I was able then to see where things were headed, but Pilate couldn't bring himself to make the conviction. He tried to appease the Sanhedrin by having Jesus mocked and flogged. Eventually he had him brought back to the waiting crowd bloodied and beaten, a crude crown of thorns pushed down on his brow. The mob brayed for his blood. Pilate prevaricated, spoke to Jesus, spoke to the High Priest, even tried to speak to the mob. It was to no avail, when the Mob shouted that they had no King but Caesar he had no choice. To do anything else would be political suicide. For a moment I had a glimmer of hope when he offered the crowd the freedom of one condemned man, Jesus or Barabbas. The crowd choose the rebel. Barabbas.

I don't know why I stayed. A lot of people did. It wasn't long before the soldiers came out with the condemned. There were three that day. All were half dead already, backs raw from the whips. They were forced to carry the beams of the crosses through the streets, showing all that they were cursed, bearing their shame, carrying the instruments of their own punishment. We followed behind, the crowd now in a blood frenzy, but here and there signs of weeping, of mourning, of fear. There were disciples among the crowd. At Golgotha the soldiers got on with their job quickly. Some of the crowd watched, but I couldn't. Hearing the blows was bad enough. The screams worse. I don't know who was nailed up first, when I turned back all three crosses were in place.

I stayed for a while longer. I don't know what I expected to see. Maybe I was still hoping for the heavens to open and stop what was happening. Whatever it was, all that happened was more bickering. This time over the notice of charges. Pilate had ordered the sign to say 'The King of the Jews' and the Council were arguing that it should be altered to say that this was a claim, not that he was. This was enough for me, sickened, I left and went to the temple. I had no desire to watch a death, especially on Passover and I did not want to be associated with the council any more.

I spent a while in the temple. Not thinking, not praying, just sitting quietly. I suppose I was aware of it getting darker but my mind was on this man, Jesus. He was dying now, as I sat there and nothing was stopping it. Did this mean my friend Nicodemus was wrong? Then the earth began to shake, there were noises of things falling, I stood to my feet, was this the beginning? I was about to dash outside when the shaking slowly ceased. There was an eerie calm for a moment and then a louder noise, behind me. I wasn't sure I dared look, this noise was coming from the Holy of Holies. The place where the Ark of the Covenant lay and the Glory of God himself rested.

Not knowing was worse than dying and I looked. The great curtain that separated the Holy of Holies from the sanctuary was tearing. It had started at the top and was now spreading down the length of the thick curtain in a resolute way, inch by inch, from heaven to earth. The tear reached the bottom and the curtain hung. It would be easy now for anyone to walk through, though who would be foolish enough to do I don't know.

I couldn't settle back to contemplation after that so went to the council chamber, wondering if I should start preparing my resignation. It was there I met Nicodemus. He looked ashen, and told me that Jesus was already dead. That with the simple words 'It is Finished' he had died just after the earthquake. I told him about the curtain and we sat silently together for a few moments, wondering what would happen next. A few more council members arrived, agitated at the thought of bodies hanging on the crosses all over the Sabbath, but none willing to risk doing anything about it. Nicodemus and I looked at each other, and got up. There was no need to talk, we both knew what we were going to do.

Nicodemus went to gather spices while I went to get the necessary permissions from the Romans and with that in hand we went back to Golgotha. Back to the crosses and asked the soldiers to remove the bodies. They broke the legs of the other two men to speed their deaths, but seeing Jesus was already dead they simply pushed a spear in his side to be certain and then took the body down. I helped Nicodemus wrap it in the linen he had brought and we carried it to the garden nearby where many tombs were. My own tomb was there and thinking this would be easiest we took the body there for burial. We washed, covered with spices and wrapped the body. As we left the tomb Nicodemus gravely greeted a small group of mourning women. Not wishing to intrude I arranged for the tomb to be sealed, and seeing that in progress waited quietly for my friend.

As we went back into the city he told me that one of the women was Jesus' mother and the others followers also. I asked what they were going to do, if they were safe but he didn't know. He thought they would be together somewhere, possibly with the disciples or other followers, but more than that he wasn't sure. I asked if he still thought that Jesus was the Messiah.
“More than ever before, I am convinced he was. But as for what happens now, I don't know. I didn't expect it to end like this. We need to go back to the Law and the Prophets, to see what the Scripture says.”

Nicodemus left me then and I have spent the evening alone reading the Scripture. He seemed sure there was something more to be gained from that, but I cannot see it. If Jesus was the Messiah, we have killed him. What more can there be?

This Story can be found at Matthew ch27 v11-61 Markch15 Luke ch23 and John ch18v12 to ch19:51
Copyright Carolyn Phillips2008 All Rights Reserved

Taken in the Night

Mark flung himself onto his bed, burying his head in the pillow and pulling the sheet close to cover his nakedness. His heart thudded as he heard footsteps outside the house, and the perspiration dripping from him was making him shiver violently. He tried to take slow breaths, to calm down, but the scenes in the garden were too vivid, every time he shut his eyes he could see the moonlight glistening off the soldiers swords.

He lay awake in bed, watching the moonlight fade as the night grew darker. The sounds outside never quite stopped, but they settled into the usual noises of the city and when there was no knock at the door, no soldiers coming to arrest him, he slowly began to stop shaking and let his thoughts go back over the previous day, wondering how a day that started in such a promising way could come to that end.

Early that morning his father had told him to sweep out the upper room in the house. This was a large, long room at the back of the house, over the kitchen and with its own entrance to the courtyard as well as steps to the kitchen. He did as he was told and then went to see what else his Father needed doing in order to prepare the house for the Passover. He was quickly sent off to fetch water and when he was carrying the jar back noticed that he was followed by two men. He took the jar to the kitchen and returned to the courtyard to find his father deep in conversation with the two, one of whom looked familiar to him. He was puzzling over this when his father beckoned him over and told him that the upper room was to be used by these men that night and he was to help them prepare and ensure that they received the best of the food from the kitchen.

He spent the rest of the day in their company and soon remembered where he had met them before. These men were followers of Jesus. Mark eagerly questioned them about Jesus, about what kind of man he was, what he taught them, what miracles they had seen, what did they think was going to happen during the Passover, where was Jesus now and did they think he would be sharing the Passover with them. The two men laughed at his enthusiasm and told him a little of their travels and experiences with Jesus. Mark, thrilled to the core hung onto their every word, and when he heard that they were preparing the room for Jesus to celebrate the passover in with his disciples he determined to be there somehow.

In the end it wasn't hard. His father was happy to allow him to serve their guests and although it was a private meal, Mark managed to be in the room for most of it, bringing the bread, wine, meat, spices, water to the table and clearing away in-between the different courses. He had been about to clear away the bread when Jesus asked him to wait. Mark stepped back, wondering what more was to be said. He watched Jesus hold up the bread, getting the attention of all his followers before giving thanks and breaking it. He passed it round the table, telling those sharing it with him to take it and eat because it was his body. Everything seemed sombre for a festival occasion and Mark stood at the edge of the room in silence as Jesus took up a cup of wine and gave thanks in a similar way before again passing it around the table saying that the wine was the blood of a new commitment between God and Man, blood poured out for many.

Mark noticed the seriousness of the mood, and cleared the table wondering what Jesus meant about body and blood. He knew the Passover was associated with blood, the blood of the passover lamb that was sacrificed. He knew that this reminded them how the angel of death had passed over the children of Israel, striking only the Egyptians and how God had then delivered them. He thought as he carried the pots downstairs what Jesus could have meant, and wondered if he would have opportunity to ask. As he took the last load down he heard them singing a hymn, a Psalm giving thanks for deliverance.

He had intended on going to see if there was anything else they required, but as he got to the foot of the stairs again he heard footsteps coming down. They were leaving already. Mark felt uneasy, this was early and yet he and his father had done everything they had been asked and more. He decided to follow, to see if he could serve them in any other way and if nothing else to maybe watch how Jesus spent the rest of the Passover eve.

They started to climb the Mount of Olives. Mark kept back, close enough to follow, to watch, to hear, but not to disturb. He heard Jesus telling the twelve with him that they would all scatter and desert him. Mark grinned as he heard Peter say that he would never do so. Even Mark knew that Peter was the one whose mouth ran away with him. To Mark's astonishment though Jesus affirmed that even Peter would deny him three times that very night. By this time the group had reached the garden. Mark knew this was a public place, he could see other people in twos and threes, small groups here and there among the rocks and yet he began to feel that he was seeing something intimate. He saw Jesus speaking to his disciples and watched the majority of them settle down on the ground while a few went a little further with Jesus before settling down as well. Mark shivered and wondered if he should return home but seeing Jesus throw himself down on his knees, weeping in prayer, found himself unable to move.

This was more than intimate. Mark had seen all kinds of prayer, fervent and business like, quiet and showy, you got them all in the temple but this was different. There was an intensity that seemed to cut through the very air itself. In this garden, overlooking the city and the temple Jesus seemed to be wrestling in anguish, looking as if he was crying out in pain, although Mark could hear no words. He remained motionless in the shadow of an olive tree as Jesus woke the three who had separated from the rest with him and returned to pray. Again the struggle that was almost physical before waking the sleepers once more and then returning to pray for a third time. If it was possible for the intensity about the kneeling figure to have increased then it had, Mark found he was holding his breath. Something far beyond him was happening here and yet something that he was compelled to watch to the end.

Then the tension dropped from his shoulders, arms, back. Jesus relaxed, opened his hands by his side in a gesture of submission and then stood head bowed for a moment before turning back to the sleeping men once more. There was a change in the atmosphere, a decision was made and the world was turning again. Mark crept forward, seeing lighted torches and a crowd coming up the hill. If Jesus was to teach on this night, after praying in such a way he wanted to hear what would be said.

Only that was not what happened. This was when events began to happen so fast that Mark was confused, frightened. He saw one of the twelve who had been in the upper room in his own home that night come up and greet Jesus, place a kiss on his cheek and then soldiers appeared from amongst the trees, holding lighted torches and with swords unsheathed. There were not trained Roman soldiers, they were Temple guard, supplemented by a mob. Mark saw Peter swing his own sword wildly, catching a man in the livery of the High Priest on the ear. Jesus calmly reached out and stopped Peter, and then spoke to the man, who felt his ear in amazement. The guards in the crowd stepped forward and bound Jesus, who did nothing to stop them. Mark looked around wildly, surely someone would stop this, but the disciples seeing their leader calmly accepting his arrest without protest were in confusion and then as the mob turned towards them they fled.

It was only a moment before someone noticed Mark himself. It was clear he had not arrived with the mob, and he looked so stunned he had to have been with Jesus. They grabbed for him and Mark too ran. As the hands reached out towards him, fear gave him speed and although they grabbed his tunic he continued to run, leaving his tunic behind. He fled down the mount, through the streets, down alleyways and courtyards until in terror he reached his own home.

This story can be found at Mark ch14 v12-51
Copyright Carolyn Phillips 2008 all rights reserved.

Just a Ha'penny

The temple was always busy, but during Passover it was packed throughout the day. It was the focus of the sacrifice and festivities, the place to be seen. Everyone in Jerusalem just about would be there during the week, visitors and residents, rich and poor. If you wanted to observe life, then the temple was the place to do it.

One man sat in the temple, in the shadows observing the mass of humanity going about its religious business. This was obviously the place to be seen, although in the shadows it wasn't obvious that he was watching. Some people came in with noise, walking around, head held up, standing in the open to say their prayers. They would catch people's eyes, nod and smile, speak to friends and ensure they were seen by those whose attention they wanted.

Others would come in alone, quietly, unnoticed by anyone apart from maybe the man in the shadows. Heads bowed they stood in the crowd where it was anonymous and safe. They didn't come to be seen. They didn't come to stare at the rich, the wealthy, the infamous. They came to fulfil a duty, or an obligation. They came from a sense of need. They came to celebrate one deliverance and to pray for another.

There was a large commotion when a rich man walked by the offering to the temple treasury and with a casual flourish threw several large bags of coins in the direction of the offering. Most landed with a dull thud, the coins inside rattling gently as they settled back onto the pile, but one burst open, spilling the golden coins which were eagerly collected and deposited back in the offering by the priests who then walked alongside the man giving him many thanks for his generosity.

Not long afterwards when the attention of the crowd was elsewhere a drab looking widow shuffled towards the offering. She dug deep into her pocket and pulled out a thin, worn purse.. With gnarled fingers she opened the clasp and carefully took out the contents, two small coins. She looked at them and with a swift resolved movement dropped them into the pile where they were lost to sight amongst the many other coins, just as the widow herself was lost amongst the crowd.

The watching man started to speak to those stood close by, and given that he was the person all Jerusalem was currently talking about the crowd shifted closer to hear what he was saying.
The honest truth is this; the rich who throw fat purses into the treasury have given nothing in comparison to the poor woman who gives two coins, worth less than a ha'penny. They give from their wealth and do not notice the gift but she gives from her poverty and makes a sacrifice.

It happened that both those whom he had observed giving their offering where in the crowd. Both heard his words and took a personal message from them. One went away feeling uncomfortable, wondering what it was that God required of him. The other with the comfort that God had not overlooked her.

This story can be found at Luke ch21 v1-4
Copyright Carolyn Phillips2008 All Rights Reserved.

A Questioning Week

It seems that this is a week of questions.

All over Jerusalem there are questions being asked.

“Who is this man? By what authority does he heal?”
and the reply is a question, “Was John's baptism from heaven or from man?”

Another question, about taxes, “Is it right to pay taxes to Caesar?”
Again, the reply is a question, “Whose head is on the coin?”

Questions all over, questions to trick. Questions to expose. Questions have been used ever since the Serpent first whispered, “Did God really say?”

Questions from Pharisees.

Questions from Sadducees.

They are looking for ways to undermine Jesus. Ways to accuse him. Ways to decrease his standing with the crowd.

Questions from the crowd.

“When will he reveal himself as Messiah?”

“When will we be rid of oppression?”

“Who will be greatest in the kingdom?”

“Is he really sent by God?”

Then, suddenly an answer to a question.
“What is the greatest commandment?”

Jesus answered this one with clarity. “Love the Lord your God with every part of your being. With your all your heart, all your soul, all your mind and with every bit of strength. The second commandment is similar, it says you must love your neighbour as you love yourself. Everything in the law and spoken by the prophets can be summed up in these two simple commandments.”
That simple answer stopped the questions at that point, but later they started again.

“Who is he?”

“What do we need to do about him?”

These questions and more can be found in Matthew ch22
Copyright Carolyn Phillips 2008 All Rights Reserved.