Resurrection and Reconciliation 


Do you love me, Peter?

Feed my lambs.

do you love me, Peter?

Lead my sheep.

Do you love me, Peter?

Feed my sheep.


He lifted up his hands and the nail holes showed clear,

the scars on his forehead from the scorn of thorns,

and he blessed the denial and dread in Peter,

and will bless ours too.


We need never fear the judgment of Christ,

He gave his all,

We need never fear our own sins,

We are worth his life.


As we stand in the shadow of the cross,

where love chose goodness,

we are reconciled, forgiven and free to become


Fraught Fishing

Jesus is Resurrected and appears to the fishermen.


The net stretched deep into the lake,

the stars glistened and somewhere an owl hooted,

still they worked and searched,

no fish came.


The net still hung in the water, 

as it tinted pink with the waking world,

a fire on the beach, nothing strange,

no fish to grill.


They mistook the stranger 

with wood in his hands, a wave and suggestion to try

on the right side of the boat.

Only a man?


Scents of bread and grilled fish,

a welcome and so he serves them again, kneeling, 

red from the heat of the fire,

love smiling.

The Hiddenness of Christ

The Road to Emmaus


Talking makes it real,

words inadequately describing,

while walking.

No one would guess seeing the two,

that one unseen, a companion

who bent his head and heard,

hidden for a moment to give space,

hidden from their grief.


The moment came and he shared their grief,

a friend for the walk who understood,

and gave insight to their weary steps,

broke the bread of his body,

and hid.

Doubts and Fulfilment

Easter Monday 

Wandering the streets did little to calm,

his mind’s wanting to smash each Pharisee,

excepting Nic, 


to go up to the Roman Soldiers who divided his spoil,

and tell them just who they had killed.

Thomas, tears ever present in his eyes, 

found solace in the garden,

and weeping he knelt in the very place

where Jesus had been,

groaning, angry beyond words with

God who’d deserted them.


He walked back through the busy streets

and into their space and his rage

showed in his fury at the pretence of them

his beloved Jesus had returned.

Nonsense his mind cried. Believe them beat his heart.

and he wanted so much to throw something,

swear and curse.

He turned and saw what they had seen before,

a man brutally beaten and battered, crucified.

He mouthed a thought but could say not a word.


Jesus seeing his pain showed him the side,

where the sword has passed through and

invited his touch and in the very nail holes too.

Shocked, guilt spread through his soul,

and kneeling he could only say, “My

Lord and my God.’

And after, his heart pulsed with pleasure,

He was chosen after all.

The Hidden Christ.

Easter Sunday

He wound his hands around the tree

and watched Mary come by,

He saw the others and waited.

His heart broke with the tears she shed,

and he stepped forward to help.

She sees a gardener and he his child,

and says her name. Mair. 


As a child hears the love in her parents’ voice,

she opened like a flower. Changed by love.


He gave her the message that lasts thousands of years,

Love dies for love of you.

Love has overcome death.

Love is now eternal.

The Waiting

Holy Saturday

Hushed was the garden where he lay,

birds silently watched and soft wings

of many hued butterflies flit to and fro

alight on the stone as if they could 

prise it open and find their Lord within.


In Bethany tears flowed, work stopped,

food untouched, and shocked bodies

slumped,, and talking tried to find a way,

to think of life without his being there

and the failure of all that he promised.


The eye of the storm lay over Jerusalem,

as the leaders rejoiced in their victory

and enjoyed their power and Passover,

feasting and worshipping their man made

God of power, abuse and bloody sacrifice.

Within the tomb Jesus lay,

God holding his broken body close,

together they caused an abundance of love

that would heal a broken world and seal

the promise of hope again.

Public Humiliation of the Innocent.

Good Friday

All through the night he was moved and tried,

no one stood by him and not one dared stay,

Peter denied knowing him and a cock crowed,

people yelled, ‘Crucify!’ when Pilate was unsure.

Washing his hands, wipes away innocent blood,

scans the grown ugly mob and turns to Jesus,

and hands the love of God over to his fate.

Whipped til his skin reveals the bones, forced

to walk humiliated and shamed, struggling

bearing the sign of a murderer, wearing

a crown, meant as a taunt, which pierced 

his head, blood pools in those loving eyes.

Blood lost left him weak and faint. he fell,

His already blood smeared cross, it falls,

Simon was called to carry it to the skull,

There, on the cruel mount he laid it down.


Nearby, hIs faithful followers stood stunned,

flinching and vomiting at each hammer blow,

unbelieving, as he was raised up above them,

watching him gasp, he was hardly breathing.


Proud of their feat the jealous elders shuddered,

Feet ran swiftly. Tells -The temple curtain is torn.

Jesus called out in terror, abandoned, alone,

calling on God to forgive their ignorant wrongs.

Then a collective sigh as he breathed his last,

the healing, loving man was gone from their grasp.


Truly dead declared the sword in his watery side.

Violated, abused, his spirit was freed.

They brought him down, lowering his broken body,

gently they wiped away flies, blood and smears,

then carrying him, awkward in death, to a tomb

hidden in a garden, where Spring flowers bloom.


Mary his mother, tear stained shock showing 

in her face lined with grief, pain and living,

stumbles over stones and Joanna holds her

while Mary of Magdala holds onto his feet.


The cold blast from the whitened sepulchre

welcomes the already stinking, oozing corpse.

Death always come with grim decomposition 

and the loss of a person we will dreadfully miss.


The stone in place and the group drift away,

numbed by the traumas of the recent day,

each tree a reminder of his stertorous breath,

each nail etched into their tortured memory.

No one can speak stretching the silence,

sick with himself, Peter goes off alone,

his manly pride battered by his denial

of a man he loved, worshipped, adored.


All over the world they humiliate the fallen,

the innocent and callously condemn them

each to a whip, public execution and so 

he, in them, feels their heart and weeps

in desolation of our vile inhumanity.

Betrayal for Violence.

Holy Wednesday 

Grateful bastard, so well you know me ,

So you think you can flipping turn easily,

my fell desires to yours and create freely

another like you? 

Then think again my Lord, Think again.


You are so kind and you love the poor,

you gave me the purse and I have made sure

that they are always, always wanting more.

If you think I’m like you? 

Then think again my Lord, Think again.


The wandering women, I hate the lot, 

its not in my heart to care a jot,

except for the Romans will I rot,

If you think I’ll change

Then think again my Lord, Think again.


I went to see them and they paid me well.

Its not the money but the chance to yell,

I wish you’d listen, be surprised that I’d sell 

you and arm your men,

Then think again my Lord, Think again.


If only you would see your peoples’ need,

it’s from the Romans they want to be freed.

Your zeal unplaced will never, never feed

the starving. Hear me please!

Then think again my Lord, Think again.


I found him, kissed him and called his name.

they took him away and then I felt the blame,

How’d I missed that it was right to avoid fame,

to be loving and graceful, a king of souls.

Then think again Judas, Think again.


It’s too late. It was I who should have thought,

stopped and listened, let him change my heart,

and yet stubborn to the last I chose my part,

and shall I be damned to eternity.

Well, think again Judas, Think again.

The Kingdom in the Vineyard

  Holy Tuesday

The purple fruits hung in bulging clusters,

their juice running down the sampler’s chin,

Beautiful to see and wonderful to pick and

mouthwatering, tartness and sweetness as

the grapes burst, giving up their fruitfulness.

The vines, like people have roots deep down

in the soil of their youth, but there are those

who choose to rule by cruelty, might and fear

they grow tall and strongly, overshadowing

the poorer, weaker plants absorbing their life.


Love has a vineyard,  worked for the good,

To grow fruits of peace and hope and joy we

need manure and compost of spiritual growth,

but they grew their fruit rotten with greed and

their souls as empty as their vacated hearts.


It is not a place of power and control but open

to welcome the lame and the sick, old and young

so that equality reigns and all share the goodness.

A place and time where timid children are safe,

and women free to be completely themselves.

We all live in vineyards where the pauper reigns,

for it’s the kingdom of God celebrating diversity,

a world loved and graced by his woundedness,

working, growing, diligently aspiring to be just,

like the son who was killed for caring too much.

Coercion and Corruption

Holy Monday

It was riddled with corruption and guilt,

that temple in Jerusalem,

No one could come and feel beloved

excepting the moneyed leadership.


The tables were out and wares bought,

in that holy courtyard,

In poverty they came where exploitation

capitalised on the hungry poor.


Pitiful returns on money exchanged,

and the costs of doves were high,

seeking redemption they paid it all,

to appease the law.


He walked in and saw the oppression,

in a place that was holy,

he felt their pain, saw the cheating

and stood for truth that day.


He overset the tables, loosed the doves

in his rage at the injustice.

Breathing hard he spoke the word –

this is a place of prayer.


The temple curtain trembled and shook,

while people flocked to see,

the gentle, healing man, zealous for action

fighting for grace and love.


The stones in the courtyard,

besmeared and trodden,

looked up and praised

that awesome judgement.


The great blocks of stone, in

the sturdy temple walls,

shouted for equality and opportunity

to be shared for all.


The dust settled, shock waves at peace,

he looked up and wept for the many

who always die contributing to 

corruption and coercion.