I have this on a postcard which is always by my computer, and always makes me feel better

Stay loose. Learn to watch snails.
Plant impossible gardens. invite
someone dangerous to tea. make
little signs that say yes! and post
them all over your house. make friends
with freedom and uncertainty. look
forward to dreams. cry during movies.
swing as high as you can on a
swingset by moonlight. cultivate
moods. refuse to ‘be responsible’.
do it for love. take lots of naps.
give money away. do it now.
the money will follow. believe in magic.
laugh a lot. celebrate every gorgeous
moment. take moonbaths. have
wild imaginings, transformative
dreams, and perfect calm. draw on the
walls. read everyday. imagine yourself
magic. giggle with children. listen to old
people. open up. dive in. be free.
bless yourself. drive away fear. play
with everything. entertain your inner
child. you are innocent. build a fort
with blankets. get wet. hug trees.
write love letters.

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do”
Luke 23: 34

The son of man
God in human form
Born to us and for us
All powerful God nailed down by human hands.
The road from Bethlehem to calvary,
A rough and dangerous way filled with temptation and pain,
which he travelled willingly, that we might come to him.

“Love your neighbour” He said, “as you love yourself”
“Love the Lord” He said, “for he loves you”
He came from God, with a message of hope and salvation for all people.

They said he was trouble,
A liar, blasphemer and heretic.
The Lord was on their side,
They knew what he wanted of them,
How they should live.
This man, this carpenter, was speaking against God's laws,
Rocking the boat with his talk of forgiveness and humility.
Associating with prostitutes and tax-collectors,
He was degrading the church's good name, and must be removed.

Father, forgive them.

He questioned their authority and their motives,
their ideas and actions.
He made people ask questions,
think differently,
think for themselves.
And people followed him,
They listened to him, believed in him.
This was more than a nusiance.
He was a danger, a threat.
They plotted his capture, torture, and death.
He came with a message of love from God,
And they spat in his face and hung him on the tree to die

Father, forgive them.

In that week when hosanna turned to crucify,
Voices which had been raised in welcome and rejoicing
Were silent, and silenced, by the cries of the priests and leaders.
Friends and followers, scared and ashamed to admit they were so,
Did not stand against the crowd,
but joined in the chorus with their silence.
Closest friends, disciples, you and me.
Denied, betrayed, disowned him.
Abandoned him as he suffered in the garden
Turned their backs on his agony and left him in isolation.

Father, forgive them.

We were not there in the crowd, or on the hill that day.
Not our sins Lord, not our persecution, not me.
We sing hosannas gladly, waving palm leaves and rejoicing.
In the safety of the present, when the cross of calvary is so very far away.
Only to revert to inaction,
joining in the condemnation and betrayal when it doesn't suit us to follow.
We remember the cries of the crowd which sent him to the cross,
But forget, don't want to hear, our own voices within the noise,
Adding another “Crucify!”

Father, forgive them.

And yet he went, from the garden to the cross.
“Take this cup away from me?
But only if it is your will.”
He carried the burdens too heavy for us to bear,
He took on the weight of our sins,
and lifted them to the cross, and higher.
Dying for those who drove the nails home.
As they whipped and shouted, mocked and jeered,
He bore the pain for the sake of their sins,
And bled for them, that they might have eternal life.
As they lifted him high and shouted “save yourself”
He prayed for their forgiveness.
They knew not who he was.

And at that moment, in the misdt of seering pain,
Every trace of every sin was wiped away by his blood.
And with his dying breath, he cried,
Forgive!

As Jen mentioned, last night we went to see Show of Hands in a lovely little venue in Cardiff Bay. I was introduced to Steve and Phil (aka SoH) in my first year in swansea by another folkie friend, and have loved them ever since. They’re one of those bands where you’d think, from looking at the instruments set up, that there were about 10 members, not two! Multi-talented doesn’t come into it!

Anyway, last night they were on top form- with as many jokes and laughs as there were songs, and, as always, obviously enjoying playing as much as we enjoyed watching. There’s something about watching people singing/playing/whatever when you can tell they’re so involved in their music, and so passionate about it, that the outisde world almost doesn’t matter any more. It’s virtually impossible for me to describe the thrill of listening to such music, although it has been suggested by some that I should try, and one day maybe I will.

One of the songs they played (from their new album ‘Witness’) was called Roots, and describes the importance of our musical heritage, and why we must hang on to it, and the sadness of the fact that many of these traditional ‘english’ styles of music are being lost. Inspired by the comment of an MP who, when questionned about the effects of licensing laws on live music, said that “his vision of hell, was three folk singers in a pub near Wells”, the song not only highlights the importance of traditional music, but also of our ‘roots’ in future growth of ‘english’ music.

“A minister said his vision of hell
is three folk singers in a pub near Wells
Well I’ve got a vision of urban sprawl
it’s pubs where no one ever sings at all
And everyone stares at a great big screen
over-paid soccer stars, prancing teens
Australian soap, american rap
estuary english, baseball caps
And we learn to be ashamed before we walk
of the way we look and the way we talk
Without our stories or our songs
how will we know where we’ve come from?

…we’ve lost more than we’ll ever know,
round the rocky shores of England!”

From ‘Roots’, Steve Knightly.

A man on a donkey, a carpenter. A lowly man, not rich or powerful, came riding into Jerusalem, triumphant, welcomed by crowds shouting ‘Hosanna!’ They cut down branches and waved them in the air, they threw their coats on the ground before him as he passed by. He was their saviour, their messiah, the one they had waited for, and he had come. Singing and dancing, shouts of joy and praise, welcomed the son of God to this city. Your name was glorified that day, in the gentleness of the donkey, the humility of Jesus and the joy of the people.

Hosanna, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!

He came to fulfill his purpose, to finish the work he had been sent to do. He shouted at the money changers and turned them out of the temple. He argued with the chief priests when they questionned his authority. He prayed to his father, and preached to all those who would listen. And then he broke bread, and shared a meal with his friends.

We cannot remember the start of this week without thinking of how it ended, how all this was turned round in those few days. He knew this would happen, and yet he came still. He knew how it had to end, and did not refuse.

Yet not my will, but yours.

My grandma had an accident over the weekend, a fire in her bungalow. She’s fine, thank God. After trying unsuccessfully to put it out she was able to think straight enough to get out of the house, and got the attention of neighbours who called the fire brigade. Which, for a 95 year old with agoraphobia who isn’t particularly steady on her feet is quite an achievement. Ironically, the panic button which she wears round her neck didn’t help, because she was panicking too much. Hmm.

Anyway, it’s left us all a little shaken, given how much of a close call it was. She spent a night in hospital from the smoke she inhaled, but the doctors said if she’d stayed in the house much longer she might not have got out. I can’t bear to think about it. All that matters is she’s safe, and with family. She’s staying with my aunt and uncle for the moment (who, along with my parents, live round the corner), but she won’t be able to go back to her own house for around 3 months (if at all) because of the damage etc.

I started off thinking she needs prayers and help and so on, but I’m just glad she’s ok, it could have been a lot worse. Thank you that she made it out, thank you that the neighbours were in and heard her, thank you for the firemen, ambulance drivers and doctors. Thank you that, despite our differences, the family can pull together at times like this.