Evening Prayers Friday, 17 April 2020

Hello everyone, Adrian here again.

I thought it might be helpful to turn our thoughts to John’s Gospel chapter 20, in preparation for our Gospel reading this coming Sunday morning.

Thomas said, ‘Unless I see the mark of the nails on his hands, unless I put my finger into the place where the nails were, and my hand into his side, I will never believe it.’ Later, Jesus came and stood among them, saying, ‘Peace be with  you!’ Then he said to Thomas, ‘Reach your finger here; look at my hands. Reach your hand here and put it into my side. Be unbelieving no longer, but believe.’ Thomas said, ‘My Lord and my God.’

John 20: 25–28.

 

I know that in my own journey of faith, I have experienced moments of doubt, as well as times of great certainty. Sometimes I have felt the pain and isolation of prayers unheard and unanswered, sometimes the comfort and assurance of listening to God, and allowing him to speak to me.

The following poem by Godfrey Rust was originally written for a meditation in St John’s, West Ealing in 1992, then adapted for a production at the Waterman’s Theatre, Brentford involving mime, dance and music.

The Word’s Out

Sometimes
I listen for your word
and hear nothing.

In the quiet of my room
the only noise
is the thump of my heart
and voices arguing inside my head.

It’s not that I don’t give you a chance.
Sometimes I say nothing
for as long as five minutes.
Your silence is still deafening.

Then I open a book
and out tumbles your voice.
And when I try to shut that up I find
you can get a word in anywhere.

I’ve even heard you sometimes from the pulpit.

I hear you on the Ten O’Clock News
saying ‘What have you done
with the world I gave you?’

I hear you in the tabloids
saying ‘Whoever is without sin
cast the first stone.’

With the first burst of spring flowers
you say ‘Look—no hands!’

With the most extraordinary sunset
you say ‘Look, just relax.’

The shrunken face of hunger
is you saying ‘Feed me.’

The beggar on the underground
is you saying ‘House me.’

The dreaded diagnosis
is you saying ‘Heal me.’

The valium prescription
is you saying ‘Free me.’

The redundancy notice
is you saying ‘Value me.’

The scream of the torture victim
is you saying ‘Father, forgive.’

The priest staring down the barrel of a gun
is you saying ‘Love casts out fear.’

When I am late and hurrying
you are the face on the clock
saying ‘I am the beginning and the end.’

When I am greedy
you are the face on the banknote
saying ‘Treasure is in heaven.’

When I am proud
you drop your banana-skins in front of me
saying ‘Don’t look down.’

When I am lonely
you are the stillness of the house
saying ‘I am with you, always.’

And when I am grieving
you are the voice at the graveside
saying ‘I am the Resurrection and the Life.’

Sometimes
I listen for your word
and hear nothing.

And sometimes
I hear nothing else.

Godfrey Rust

In his ‘Stations beyond the Cross’ from An Impossible God (1985), Frank Topping considers the appearance of Jesus to Thomas in John chapter 20 from the perspective of Thomas himself.

Thomas

Who could I have believed?
They were all in a state.
Within twenty-four hours
Judas had hanged himself
and Jesus was crucified.
Simon Peter was beside himself
with remorse.
Everyone was shattered.
And they’re all, well,
a bit more fanciful than me.
Not that I wasn’t stricken with grief,
I was. So much so, I couldn’t abide
notions that would upset me more,
turn and twist me inside out.
But they kept insisting
’til I could bear it no longer’
until I shouted at them,
‘I do not believe you!
Unless I see in his hands
the print of the nails,
and place my finger
in the mark of the nails,
and place my hand at his side,
I will not believe!’
After that, they left me alone.

 

Then he came,
That familiar face,
that quiet voice,
‘Shalom’, he said.
‘Thomas, put your finger here,
and see my hand,
and place it in my side,
do not be faithless, believe.’

Oh, if I had words
to tell you what I saw,
for I saw everything and nothing
in the bat of an eye,
I saw lepers and blind men,
the sick, the lame, the palsied.
I saw Lazarus, and storm-stilled waters,
saw the crowds, heard him teach,
saw him break bread,
heard him say, ‘This is my body.’
But most of all I saw him;
and at the same time
realised that I knew nothing,
that eternity would not be deep enough
to sound the depths
of the man before me.
In his wounds were chasms of love
with shafts so deep, I knew
that I could never measure
the love that asked me to touch.
A waterfall of revelations
had cascaded above me,
I could not move.
I could only pray,
‘My Lord and my God!’

Frank Topping

 

To conclude, a prayer by Frank Topping:

My Lord and my God,
who has granted me
the gift of faith,
hear me when I pray,
‘Lord, I believe,
help my unbelief.’
Lord, I am easily diverted,
side-tracked , confused.
So often I balance precariously
on the edge of unbelief.
Risen Lord,
when my prayers seem to echo
with hollowness,
fill the void.
When I am alone,
speak to me.
When I am in darkness,
be my light.
When the faith I possess
begins to slip my grasp,
secure it to me.
When I begin to doubt your love,
reveal yourself to me
as you did with Thomas,
that with him I might pray,
‘My Lord and my God.’

Amen

Adrian Boynton