Cruel to be Kind

Lord,
for a long, long time
I have thought
that one of the most hurtful things
in the world
is for people to laugh at you.

Often,
when I think about your Passion,
I wonder which hurt you more –
the physical pain
of your torture and execution
or being made look like a fool
in front of thousands of people?
Crowds jeered
when they saw you standing,
bruised, bloodied,
trembling with pain
and dressed up
as a farce of a king,
wearing a fine cloak,
thorns for a crown
and a twig as a staff.
You were portrayed publically
as a fool ,
an object of ridicule,
the butt of Pilate’s cruel joke.

Lord,
which hurt you more –
your aching body
or your broken heart?
And how were you ever able
to forgive Pilate
for making a holy show of you?

“Claire,
you ask some difficult questions!
You’re asking me which hurt more,
the physical pain
or the public humiliation?
I already knew
just how cruel people could be
and how weak
even the best-intentioned friend could be.
So the answer to your question is –
neither.
I would have endured all of that pain
a thousand times over
for love of my Father
and for love of mankind.

“What caused me the deepest pain
was the feeling, on the cross,
of having been forsaken by my Father.
That feeling of being abandoned
was worse
than the excruciating physical pain
and the mental anguish
combined.

“But you also ask me
about Pontius.
Believe it or not,
Pontius was actually my strongest ally.
He tried to save me from death
by turning me into a laughing stock.
So don’t be too hard on Pontius;
he was only being cruel
to be kind.”

© Claire Murray, 22nd April 2014

Failure

During Holy Week
I find myself looking back over my Lent
and I am unimpressed.
I have broken my Lent
so many times
and if I’m really honest with myself
I don’t believe
that I took it seriously.
My effort is pitiful.
I feel disappointed with myself
and deeply humbled
by my own weakness.

I feel like a failure.

I sense the My God speaking to me,
asking, gently,
“So, you see yourself as a failure?
Would you like me to tell you what I see?”
I nod.

My God answers:

“I see a woman
who tried to give up
some of her favourite treats for me
and struggled.
She now has a much greater sense
of her own weaknesses
and she is a humbler person
for the experience.

“I see a woman
who has been honest enough with herself
to admit
that she didn’t take this Lent seriously
and who is already planning
how she can approach Lent next year
in a more mature manner.

“I see a woman
who has been learning the vital importance
of forgiving others
and who has discovered the powerful liberation
that this gives her in return.

“I see a woman
who came to me at the start of Lent
praying that, during Lent,
she would draw closer to me.
She is certainly closer to me now
than she was at the beginning of Lent.

“Claire,
do you think that I see your Lent as a failure?”
I shake my head
and smile.

© Claire Murray, 15 April 2014

Contemplate Love

As I cycle to work
along the Tow Path
I’m deeply conscious
that this is Holy Week.

This is a beautiful spring day,
a day of birdsong and blossom,
sunshine and still waters –
a day to take life slowly.

As I reach my usual stopping point,
where I can watch the bending river
stretch out on either side of me,
I am thinking about the Passion of Jesus
who died for me
and was tortured to death for me.
I am conscious of the suffering
that Jesus endured for me –
excruciating pain,
humiliation,
exhaustion,
betrayal.

Yet, as I ponder the depths of Jesus’s suffering,
I sense that I am surrounded
by the love of My God
and that My God is inviting me today
to think about why Jesus died for me
instead of how Jesus died for me.

Today My God is inviting me
to contemplate love.

© Claire Murray, 14 April 2014

 

New World Order (John, 4:1-42)

Lord,
in today’s Gospel
we heard about the Samaritan woman
at the well.

You could have looked down on her,
like the rest of the Jews,
simply because she was a Samaritan.
You could have looked down on her,
like her own community,
because of the way
that she chose to live her life.

But you didn’t.
You treated her,
a woman shunned by her own community,
with respect.

You transformed this woman,
a reject of her own society,
into a person of importance,
the person to whom the Christ had chosen
to reveal himself.

You turned this woman,
a social pariah,
into someone who was sought-after,
the first in her community
to meet the Messiah.

Lord,
that was so typical of you –
to turn world order on its head
by choosing to spend your time
with the outcasts of society –
tax collectors and prostitutes
instead of seeking the company
of influential people
such as rabbis, priests
and political figures.

You created a new world order
by preaching about a world
where the last would be first,
where the greatest would be a servant
and where a notorious Samaritan woman
would be specially chosen
to meet the Son of God.

(c) Claire Murray, 23rd March, 2014

Do Not be Afraid

Do Not Be Afraid
Lord,
entering the church at Hannahstown
for the Easter Sunday vigil Mass,
all is in darkness.
The tabernacle lies wide open
and empty.
The altar is bare.

But expectancy is in the air.

One by one,
lighted candles spread light
throughout the entire church.

Hope is in the air.

At the Gospel,
I sense a lightness of heart
and relief
as the two Marys reach the tomb
and an angel appears to tell them
that Jesus is risen.

Deep sorrow and despair
are replaced by elation.
Mourning and lamenting
are replaced by celebration.

Then the two Marys meet you in person
and their joy is complete.
You hasten to reassure them,
saying, “Do not be afraid.”

Lord,
please bless our wee family
this Easter season.
When life gets tough,
hasten to reassure us.

Remind us
of the hope and the promise of new life
that your Resurrection brings.

Remind us
that death is not the end.

Remind us
not to be afraid.

(Matthew, 28: 1-10)

© Claire Murray, 20th April 2014

Malchus

Lord,
when you were going through
your Agony in the Garden,
one of your followers drew his sword
and cut off the right ear
of a high priest’s servant.
That servant’s name was Malchus.
Saint Luke writes
that you healed Malchus’s ear.
I wonder what became of Malchus
who saw only gentleness and compassion
in the eyes of a man
whose death he sought?

Lord,
Danny is going through
his own personal Agony in the Garden,
preparing himself
for what must be.
Like Malchus,
Danny may lose his right ear.
If that must happen, Lord,
please heal and comfort Danny.
Let Danny see in your eyes
the same gentleness and compassion
that you showed to Malchus.

© Claire Murray, 18th April 2014

Dominic and Fr David

When I was growing up
we had a canary called Dominic.
Dominic lived in his cage
and we used to hear wee birdy noises
coming from Dominic’s corner
of the living room:
cheeps and chirps;
scraping sounds
as Dominic sharpened his beak;
rhythmic squeaks
as Dominic swung
on his mirrored perch.
But for the most part,
Dominic was relatively quiet.

Occasionally,
as the family’s eyes were all glued to the TV
we would hear behind us
Dominic bursting into song,
singing his wee heart out.
Distracted by the TV programme,
we rarely turned round
but Dominic’s song of merriment
used to bring a smile
to all of our faces.

I am sometimes reminded
of Dominic’s song-bursts of merriment
when Fr David says Sunday morning Mass
at Hannahstown.
When the folk group starts
to sing the psalm
I find that I have to concentrate
on the music
but often, I hear a song-burst
from away down on the altar
and I know that it’s Fr David
singing the response of the psalm.
I sense that the folk group and Fr David
have united in song
and in prayer
and I’m aware
that we are all singing our hearts out
in praise of Our God.
And just like all of those years ago,
when Dominic used to burst into song,
the singing brings a smile to my face.

© Claire Murray, 23 February 2014