Intercessions ~ Third Sunday of Easter

Protaton Icon ~ Christ's Descent into Hades ~ 14th c

In the Sunday Creed we profess,/ "He descended into hell" — the underworld of the dead/ and lifted us up into life./ In the Eastertime/ may we know ourselves to be escorted out of hardness of heart/ and yanked up by Christ into the kind love of God./ We pray to the Lord.

Since the invasion of Ukraine began on February 24,/ many towns and cities have been completely destroyed./ Mass graves are being discovered./ Many more people are dying from lack of water,/ food and medical care./ Nothing is spared./ Even schools,/ libraries,/ hospitals,/ nurseries,/ apartment complexes,/ parks and forests are bombed and burned./ We pray boldly for God to intervene./ We pray to the Lord.

In the Easter Season may we not be confused or waylaid Christians,/ but understand and embrace the Gospel of Jesus in its essentials:/ humility,/ repentance,/ gratitude,/ justice,/ kindness,/ hospitality,/ forgiveness and service./ We pray to the Lord.

There are currently dozens of major and lesser wars,/ conflicts,/ clashes and skirmishes taking place around the world/ claiming many thousands of lives./ War is anti-spiritual./ War is loss,/ waste and degradation./ Even the animals,/ plants,/ water,/ air and soil pay the price./ We pray for our conversion./ We pray to the Lord.

We pray for those who are injured by disaster,/ accident or violence./ For the sick,/ the terminally ill/ the people who are sleepless,/ over-worked,/ under-paid,/ in chronic pain,/ depression or fear./ We pray to the Lord.

Earth Day and Arbor Day were observed during the Month of April./ Grant us something of the mind of God/ who created this planet in loving imagination./ Bless those who actively care for the earth,/ the tree-planters,/ gardeners,/ farmers,/ foresters,/ botanists,/ ecologists,/ teachers and scientists whose work advances respect and stewardship for the earth./ We pray to the Lord.

"It's good for an old priest to work in a cemetery."

The parish priest said, 'If you apply to the monastery, I will write to the prior and tell him you're psychotic." And so it never happened. But here I am now, a church cemetery groundsman,  an echo of the boyhood hermitage dream. I am silent behind this tall, enclosing, sun-soaked, sparkling wall of schist rock. No one knows that I am here; no one cares. 

A friend said to me, "It's good for an old priest to work in a cemetery." I work here not to contemplate death — my aching back, my flagging strength are sufficient to remind me that I am closer to my death than to my birth. I have been on this life-pilgrimage for many decades now — noticed by God, healed and  smiled upon along the way. 

Behind the wall there are sometimes tears of sorrow for losing Holy Spirit, but also tears of stunned wonder for the scent of viburnum, the violet tucked into the oak tree's root-embrace and awe before the mother who visits her young son's grave.

There's silence, words unspoken, but also inner noise needing to be stilled — the over voice of argument, justification, the rehearsal of old wounds, the sorrow of regrets. Raise up instead the voices of psalms —memorable lines absorbed over years. The inner bending of the heart more than knee. Here, my prayer is one of eyes and ears more than teeth and tongue.

Treasure of my heart — the One of limitless imagination who had the bright idea to place us in the paradise garden in the first place and who, ever-speaking the divine love, came to be with us in this bloodstained, smoke-choked place, and to rise up from death inviting us, "You love too." 

My hermitage is among the graves — the soldier who died in the faraway place, the architect, the pediatrician, the engineer, the woman whose dear ones carved into her stone that her virtues were more precious than rubies, yet another woman called blessed peacemaker, the infant's grave hidden under pink azaleas.

While I appear to be alone, I am with the ground hog — the red monk is a companion. The doves, wrens, robins, junco and jay are my company. The narcissus, wild rose, witch hazel and windflower, my praising community. The world is not shut out — I hear the Montessori four-year-olds delight, the sirens of trouble, the passing car's radio blast. 

Thoughts of my sins from even long ago press in — the lies we call white, the sneaky-ness, the arrogance, having too much to say. A penitent-bowed head.  Invading  weeds, the thorns that sting. All irretrievably lost in the mercy-abyss. O God, your compassionate patience! Still more, the present desire to love Christ and to live among the clean of heart. Entering or exiting my churchyard cell, I pass through the lych gate, moving from shadow to light. 

An Easter Rosary Decade ~ Remembering the Myrrh Bearing Women at the Tomb

The Mafa are an ethic group living in northern Cameroon, Africa. In the 1970's they created the Jesus Mafa project, as a catechetical tool, depicting the Gospel accounts to resonate with their own culture. Here is their picture of a handsome, comfortable angel greeting the animated and beautifully dressed myrrh-bearing women at the Easter morning tomb. O praise the Lord, all you nations, acclaim him all you peoples!! Psalm 117:2

And here is my rosary decade remembering the witness of these faithful women friends of Jesus. A little mediation is offered between each Hail Mary to help us stay focused. Thank you for your good prayer.

Our Father...

The number of women who approached the Easter morning tomb of Jesus varies: two, three, five, eight? It doesn't matter. What matters is that these women, who are referenced in a number of other gospel places, loved Jesus. May we be counted among them.

Hail Mary!

These women witnessed the awfulness of Good Friday. St. Matthew's Gospel tells us at first that Mary of Magdala and the other Mary simply sat in front of the tomb. They kept a kind of vigil. Perhaps they asked themselves, "What now?" But then what? What did they do between Friday night and Sunday morning? They did the things of love — preparing the embalming spices they would carry on Sunday.

Hail Mary!

They carried clay jars of ointment and spice. Women often carry things when they visit: a gift for the new baby, a housewarming gift, food they've prepared for a church dinner or funeral luncheon. May we learn generosity from them, and carry within ourselves hearts that help others to feel included and valued.

Hail Mary!

The women hurried away from the tomb — they ran. In some Eastern Christian churches at Easter, the priest seems to run around the sanctuary during the liturgy in imitation of them. In our culture people run to horde things out of fear, run to get more food or to be first in line, run to make money, run to get wars underway. May we have hearts that run to help, to serve, to love.

Hail Mary!

These women knew each other as friends. We never hear of contention among them (except maybe a little grumbling when Martha feels her sister Mary isn't pulling her weight when Jesus visits). By contrast, the apostles are frequently arguing, jealous and suspicious of each other. May we bring the friendship of the myrrh bearers to our parish communities.

Hail Mary! 

Because they were sent to the apostles with Easter news, the myrrh bearers are called Equal to the Apostles. But if women in the church are given that lofty recognition, then they ought to have a voice. In many instances women are silenced, shut out and marginalized. May the church model the voice-giving of Easter.

Hail Mary!

In the ancient world a woman could not be a witness in court — she could never testify to what she'd seen or heard. What does it say then about the reality of Christ's Resurrection?  If the Easter accounts are a fabrication, the authors would never have written women into the story as witnesses. 

Hail Mary!

As the women approach the tomb at dawn they expect to encounter death. "Who will roll away the stone from the tomb for us," they ask. But instead, and to their surprise, they receive a message of life. Might I allow God to surprise me — not like some kind of lucky charm that brings me good fortune, but can I imagine allowing God to surprise me with a change of mind and heart about something which I was so stubbornly resolute. 

Hail Mary!

One Easter hymn speaks of the myrrh bearing women as stopping the lamentation of Eve. Their witness turns things around. May we pray for those who weep, who shed painful tears for the great losses they suffer — the women of Ukraine who weep for their husbands, children, parents, homes, friends, neighbors, gardens, animals, churches.

Hail Mary!

These women are not only courageous but defiant. The tomb was sealed on Friday and that was supposed to be the end of it. Soldiers guarding the tomb would make sure of it if necessary. But the myrrh bearers seem fully prepared to say, "No, we're not finished yet."  Pray for the defiant women of Russia who have been whisked off to jail, court dates, and the threat of long prison time for protesting the evil being perpetrated upon their Ukrainian neighbors.

Hail Mary!

Glory be to the Father