Saturday comes too slow
And goes too fast,
A single day
Up against six others.
But if on Saturday I go slow
Then I can rest, and pause,
And laugh, and play,
And dance, and sing,
And go here, and there,
And talk, and hear,
And learn, and share,
So the day is long,
And full, and plentiful,
And so much more
Is lived in the slow,
Than in all the other six
Fast days of work and toil.
Saturday comes too slow
And goes too fast,
But it’s the day for slow
And not going fast,
Which is why my Saturday
Will always last.

The bread,
The wine,
The congregated
Body of believers,
Who meet to share
His body, in body,
And drink His blood
In place of ours, not shed,
In gathering symphony
And rising chorus
As one, comes forth,
Prophetic proclamation –
“Precious death,
Your life You gave,
So that death might die,
Its grip released,
And though its barb
Will prick us all,
The sting is gone,
Forever swallowed up
In Your body,
In Your death,
The empty tomb
Is death’s reward
For trying to hold
The Son of God
And Author of life.”

“For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.”
1 Corinthians 11:26

In simple bread,
Is life and meat,
Grain once dry
And safe in husk,
Swelled and burst
In dark earth’s womb,
And quickened forth
The meal hence ground
To mix with water,
Glueing life with life.
In dark separation
And sustained high heat,
What went into the oven
Never comes out the same,
Baked for a time
In quiet stillness,
Observably waiting,
Visibly poised,
Until the sudden rise;
The metamorphosis
From soft dough
To life-giving bread,
From pale distaste
To golden appetite,
When substance remains, still,
Yet substantially changed,
From mix and contents
Into form and presence.
For now is the bread
Where before it was not,
And only in the breaking,
And taking and eating
Is the bread for life,
And the power
To release life given.
Only in the fulfilment
Of its purpose does
The bread exist as bread;
Only in the invitation
And the offer
Is the simple bread
Life and meat.

“Take, eat; this is my body.”
Matthew 26:26

I strive,
Ever stretching,
Reaching,
Fingers extended
Until the knuckles
Glow white
And the tendons
Ache, and tremor.
My arm draining
Out the last reserves
Of blood flow,
Losing strength,
And height,
Slowly descending
To the ground,
Juddering,
Hopelessly resisting
Until it lands
In perfect alignment with
My face-in-the-dirt body,
Legs long since
Given up now
Pretending to be
An anchor for the
Rest of me.
Neck craning,
Waning, losing
The fight between
Its pitiful stamina and
Gravity’s couldn’t-care-less,
Relentless pull,
Hindered by all
The seemingly
Colossal weight
Of my falling head,
Until with sudden
Jerk it gives,
And unites my face
To the dust from
Which I once came.
I thought I could
Reach, but
I have fallen
So, so short,
And with every
Fibre of me,
And all the willpower
That seemed so
God-like, I find
Myself prostrate
Across my kingdom
Of dirt; the ants
Like disloyal subjects
Marching out of step
And all over me
Hail their king not.
In the harsh
Exposure of my
Adequate inadequacy,
The sun unwilling
To shift its spotlight
Burns the shadow
Of my fallenness
Into the place where
I reached the end
Of me, where I realised
Just how much I had
Fallen short.
And then, by means
And power not mine,
And surely divine,
The respite of a cool
Shadow from a man
Stands over me.
Whoever He is,
Wherever He’s from,
He has the power
And the will
To help me and
Save me from
This desert hell.
He lifts me up,
Dusts me down,
Squares my shoulders,
And eye-to-eye says,
“Let’s go home.”

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God”
Romans 3:23

The
Fierce
Fiery
Furnace
Smoulders
Deep within,
Waiting
Until
A thought,
Or event,
Like a poker
Stirs up
The Glowing
Coals.
The long
Lists
Of unresolved
Things past
Like tinder
Feeds
And fuels
The flames,
Accelerating
The heat
And fire.
Each breath
Provides
Fresh oxygen
To increase
The burn
And heat
And fire,
Then propels
The words
Spoken,
Flying out
Like fiery
Darts,
Scorching,
Seeking to
Ignite.
Rage,
Raging,
The fire,
And the heart,
Together
In an uncontrolled
Chain reaction
Of heat
Upon heat,
Fire
Upon fire.
When the
Moment
Finally passes
The fire
Slowly,
Slowly
Dies down
To a smoulder,
Until
The next time
A thought,
Or event,
Like a poker
Stirs up
The Glowing
Coals.

Into the still place –
The breathless,
Lifeless, emptiness,
Where the night of days
Fornever dawn,
Where death’s stiff fingers
Subdue the scene, unyielding –
Unannounced and uninvited
Life rushes in!
And out – resurrection life
That lives undying
So that when I
Breathe out my last,
The closing curtain
Does not mark the end
Of the final act, but
The beginning of when
For me, like Him,
Life rushes in.

(Easter Sunday, 8th April 2012)