Welcome back readers, and welcome, new readers –
It is Holy Week, and today is the day when we remember Jesus’ last meal with his disciples before making his “full, final sacrifice.” Malcolm Guite has a beautiful reflection on the gospel themes that come together Holy Thursday.
We wrote last year about some of the ways we prepare for and celebrate Easter. This year, we’re each sharing a song or poem that is meaningful for us.
Wishing you a blessed Easter!
Marianne – in Woodcrest, upstate New York
The “Holy Week Song” is a nineteenth-century German song which tells the story of the Passion in the form of a conversation between Jesus and Mary, with a verse for each day of the week. The poem has been set to music several times; the tune we sing is a sixteenth century folk song which perfectly matches the childlike reverence of the words. Children love this song, with its mixture of story and symbols – the Paschal Lamb, the seed laid in the earth. At its heart, it is an expression of love between Jesus and his mother and puts the terrible and glorious story of this week into a human perspective.
Our family sings this song at breakfast during Holy Week, every day accumulating the verse describing that day.
As Jesus took leave of his mother meek, and the days drew near of the great Holy Week, Then Mary’s heart was full of pain, in grief she asked her son again:
“O Jesus, dearest Son to me, what wilt thou on holy Sunday be?” “On Sunday I a king shall be, men will strew clothes and palms for me.”
“O Jesus, dearest Son to me, what wilt thou on holy Monday be?” “On Monday a wanderer, lacking bread, who has not where to lay his head.”
“O Jesus, dearest Son to me, what wilt thou on holy Tuesday be?” “On Tuesday a prophet, to all I say that Heaven and earth shall pass away.”
“O Jesus, dearest Son to me, what wilt thou on holy Wednesday be?” “On Wednesday, valued as a slave for thirty pieces I am betrayed.”
“O Jesus, dearest Son to me, what wilt thou on holy Thursday be?” “On Thursday, of patient love the seal, the Paschal Lamb at the evening meal.”
“O Jesus, dearest Son to me, what wilt thou on holy Friday be?” “O mother, dearest mother to me, would Friday from thee might hidden be.
“On Friday, dearest mother to me, on the cross I then shall nailèd be. Three nails will pierce my hands and feet, o faint not, Mother, the end is sweet.”
“O Jesus, dearest Son to me, what wilt thou on holy Saturday be?” “On Saturday holy, a grain of corn that in the earth will be reborn.
“On Sunday rejoice, o mother dear – alive from the dead I shall appear. With cross and banner in my hand, again thou shalt see me in glory stand.”
Trudi – in Spring Valley, southwest Pennsylvania
Poems, like any form of art, act like vessels that carry messages to deep places in the human heart. Easter comes to me through the Gospels but just as much through others’ interpretation and expression of the Passion of Christ.
This year, my young adults group used John Masefield’s poem, The Everlasting Mercy, to share an Easter message with Spring Valley community. We shortened it—it’s seventy-five pages total— dramatized a few parts, included some visual aids, and presented the poem with a mix of reading and memorization. Did Masefield ever imagine in 1911, that his faith penned into a poem could speak to hearts over a century later? Norann quotes some stanzas below.
Personally, the stories about the anointing of Jesus have been on my mind this Easter. The differences in the Gospel accounts indicate that He was anointed up to three times in all, which at first confused me. But technicalities become unimportant when I focus on the symbolism of pouring something so valuable and cherished onto Jesus’ feet. It’s a human tendency to hold onto what is precious—whatever that may be—and yet before the One who died for us, nothing can be held back.
Christina Rosetti must have loved the story too. Here’s from her:
Holy Wednesday--Alabastrum
Take up this alabaster box to break,
take up this heart to pour it out,
let it flood forth with scented oils
and gladness born of mercy.
How closed up is my heart's desire!
How much it must be broken!
Upon your head and feet I empty
and pour myself in weeping;
let not one drop be left within but all anointing you.
And finally, the following poem by Henry H. Barst has always seemed like a song of joy to me ever since I first read it, perhaps my favorite lines being “worthwhile the struggle, sure the prize.”
If Easter Be Not True
If Easter be not true,
Then all the lilies low must lie;
The Flanders poppies fade and die;
The spring must lose her fairest bloom
For Christ were still within the tomb
If Easter be not true.
If Easter be not true,
Then faith must mount on broken wing;
Then hope no more immortal spring;
Then love must lose her mighty urge;
Life prove a phantom, death a dirge
If Easter be not true.
If Easter be not true,
‘Twere foolishness the cross to bear;
He died in vain Who suffered there;
What matter though we laugh or cry,
Be good or evil, live or die,
If Easter be not true?
If Easter be not true
But it is true, and Christ is risen!
And mortal spirit from its prison
Of sin and death with Him may rise!
Worth while the struggle, sure the prize,
Since Easter, aye, is true!
Norann – in Danthonia, New South Wales, Australia
Two poems that I revisit each Easter are Francis Thompson’s The Hound of Heaven, and John Masefield’s The Everlasting Mercy. Both poems deal with God’s relentless pursuit of our divided and prodigal souls, His outrageous mercy in spite of our sin, and the eternal gift of grace.
I discovered The Hound of Heaven on my British-born grandparents’ bookshelf when I was in 8th grade. My grandmother, Gladys, had hand-written all 182 lines of the poem into a hand-bound book as a Christmas gift for my grandfather Arnold in 1934 to celebrate the first Christmas they spent on the Bruderhof (this was at the Alm Bruderhof, a community in the mountains of Liechtenstein, a story in itself).
Grandpa and Grandma would often recite the opening lines together:
I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbèd pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat—and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet—
‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’
John Masefield’s The Everlasting Mercy is also a family favorite. Chris has read it aloud around our campfire a few times – it’s an intense but relatable drama of sin and redemption – but you don’t need to read the entire poem to reflect on the essence of Easter and the renewing power of Christ:
O Christ who holds the open gate,
O Christ who drives the furrow straight,
O Christ, the plough, O Christ, the laughter
Of holy white birds flying after,
Lo, all my heart’s field red and torn,
And Thou wilt bring the young green corn,
The young green corn divinely springing,
The young green corn forever singing;
And when the field is fresh and fair
Thy blessèd feet shall glitter there,
And we will walk the weeded field,
And tell the holden harvests’s yield,
The corn that makes the holy bread
By which the soul of man is fed,
The holy bread, the food unpriced,
Thy everlasting mercy, Christ.
Finally, our community choir has been practicing Schubert’s Mass in G to sing together on the evening of Good Friday. I haven’t sung it for several years, so it’s been a gift to revisit, relearn, and listen to. The Kyrie and Credo are particular favorites. If you’re unfamiliar with it, add it to your listening repertoire this Easter: