Good Friday

O King of the Friday

whose limbs were stretched on the cross,

O Lord who did suffer the bruises,

the wounds, the loss,

we stretch ourselves

beneath the shield of Your might,

some fruit from the tree of Your passion

fall on us this day, this night!

Ancient Irish Hymn

I See His Blood  Upon The Rose by JM Plunkett

I see his blood upon the rose

And in the stars the glory of his eyes,

His body gleams amid eternal snows,

His tears fall from the skies.

I see his face in every flower;

The thunder and the singing of the birds

Are but his voice-and carven by his power

Rocks are his written words.

All pathways by his feet are worn,

His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,

His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,

His cross is every tree.

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75 years ago, on 27 January 1945, the Soviet Red Army arrived at Auschwitz-Birkenau. The world was soon to learn the full extent of the true horror of Nazi Fascism.
Chris McDonnell, writing in the Catholic Times, remembers: “All too easily we play with words to justify events, tell stories where truth is the casualty leading only to a greater misfortune. Maybe we should pause awhile as the month-end days arrive to ask a question and seek forgiveness.”

One Comment

  1. Sean walsh says:

    Pilate giving in…
    Lucius!
    Sir?
    Release Barabbas.
    Sir… and the Galilean?
    Have him scourged. Let your mercenaries have their way with him a while.
    Sir… and then?
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    Sir?
    Crucify him…
    – the recording of my two hander, Pilate under Pressure, now available on
    Gardiner street church – pray with us – webcam – recordings – Play title.

    Reply

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