Friday, April 06, 2007

Good Friday Night 

Let me remember this night, Lord,
when your poor battered body
lay cold in the tomb,
and you descended into the realm of the dead,
how those who loved you felt -
how dark the night
without your light to shine on them,
how they gathered,
a lost cluster of souls,
sheep without a shepherd
not knowing what was to befall them
so soon.

O my Jesus,
when I am lost and lone and torn and frightened,
bring me back to remember how lost they felt,
and then remind me, too,
of the glory that would dawn on Easter morning.


Susan E. Stone, 2007

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One Sad but Holy Day: A Meditation on the Passion 

This one is too long to put on a blogger post.

Please go here:


Wednesday, April 04, 2007


See the torches burning bright as they gather in the garden,
see the shadows gather as they come to take him away
see his followers run and hide as they scatter from the soldiers,
see them drag him off with him by night instead of day.
Torches still are burning bright to mask the dark of heart now,
Shadows wrapping around their lives as they call the evil right,
So many choose the counterfeit and think they have the answer
As others try to hide the truth and smother His bright Light.

See the court who tries the One who came to bring them new life,
See them mock and slander Him, and beat Him as he stands.
He did not try to defend himself, he listened as they slandered,
He knew that what was happening was in the Father's hands.
And still today they judge him in the papers and in books,
And learned seminars try to shrink him down to size,
And yet they cannot shrink the one who brought life to the world
He stands before them still and calm as they pile on their lies.

See the one who takes the cross that he was born to carry,
Beaten, crowned with thorns, in pain before the crowd,
Burdened with the weight of sin that he carried for all others
He follows in procession and the cries grow ever loud.
And still the crowd howls for his blood in angry shrieking tones,
Mocking him to prove that they are stronger folk than he,
Setting up alternatives to the light that he would give
Trying to hide the truth he taught for what they want to be.

And though they crucified him long ago beside two thieves,
And he, forgiving to the end went down to death so dark
The empty tomb still haunts the ones who long to see him dead,
But to those who accept His words, it gives them life's new spark.
And He, the Light that came to man will never go away,
The Bread of Life who stands before us still to feed our soul
For he is Living Water to the parched who come to drink
And from his cross comes the hope that makes our torn lives whole.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

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Light in the Darkness 

O Lord,
as I witness the darkness,
and see it wrap itself around more lives,
as man becomes less a creature of worth,
but merely a cog in the machine,
to be send into the night
when inconvenient, frail,
awkward, sick,
where purpose is sidetracked
into dehumanizing gratifications,
where truth is determined
by the shifting sands of what is popular
instead of true,
where hate and anger become the emotion of choice,
and intolerance hides under masks of fairness,
I think back to the garden of olives,
And the hard aching prayer as you steeled yourself,
confronting the truth of humankind's folly,
and I take hope in the fact you thought us worth the cost.

When the darkness is heavy, Lord,
let me see your cross burning in the night,
the only beacon I can trust to show me the way.
And at its foot, in the rough bloodstained sands,
kneeling, let my heart find the refuge it needs.

When the darkness is heavy, Lord,
let me be a lantern
to carry that light into a dark world,
to pass on the flame of your mercy and hope,
that out of the death you bore for us
in long, bitter pain,
you give us the hope of a God who loved us enough
to walk with us,
suffer with us,
die for us,
to bring us his light.


Susan E. Stone, 2007

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Monday, April 02, 2007

Meditation on the Precious Blood, version 2 

How red the blood,
offered up drop by drop
to the soldier's whip,
to the thorn's bite,
to the executioner's nail,
to the long wait on the cross.

Trickling down his arms,
across his feet,
down his forehead,
red blood,
mark of death,
fluid of life,
blood of sacrifice,

O Sacrifice of Love,
O Victim Conqueror,
O Lamb of God
who takes away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us,
heal us by the blood you so willingly shed,
give us hearts of love.


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Sunday, April 01, 2007

Beneath Your Cross 

Between the midnight rationales of those who reach out in hate
Shedding blood on the streets in God's holy name,
And those who count religion as the source of pain and disgrace
And see life on this Earth as just a meaningless game,
There is a place between, a balance point, a shelter Heaven touched,
Sanctified by Love and death, the reason why You came.
Let me stand here beneath Your cross, O Lord,
And know that Your ways are Yours, and the worlds' ways are not the same.

Between the easy answer that self is the measure of all,
And the anger that lets uninvolved and innocent persons die
As offerings to hate that say "I'm stronger than you,"
Self and self-righteous indignation the echoing battlecry,
The unborn, sacrificed for convenience, the inconvenient killed on the way,
The unwanted dying in isolation, unmourned wherever they lie
Let me stand here beneath Your cross, Lord,
And see in Your light the reasons why you chose to die.

Let me stand here beneath Your cross, Lord,
A sanctuary made in such a hard and painful way
God walking as man beneath the Sun He made,
God dying, tortured and abused, to take our sins away
The one saving point in the realm of darkness,
The one sure dawning of Heaven's perfect day
Let me stand here beneath Your cross, Lord,
Be it ever in my sight, my hope, my life, O Lord I pray.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

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When the Darkness Touches 

O my Jesus,
when the darkness touches our lives with screaming reality,
shattering the moment of comfort that you let us wrap ourselves in,
the spun-sugar illusions of our own strength,
and we realize how fragile,
how delicate
how precious
that which you give us really is,
help us remember to run into your arms,
so you can carry us like the children we are.

O Lord,
After the wounding happens,
and our heart aches with the need to strike out at that which hurt us,
Man or tool,
Wind, or sea or fire or flood,
even when there is nothing left to hurt except our own wounded hearts,
teach us to accept what you have given us,
the way you accepted the Father's will so long ago,
forgiving even as they killed you,
saving us,
showing us the way.

O Lord,
wrap yourself around us then,
when the darkness is too deep
and the anger too red for us to see,
and the pain blinds us even to your rocking us in our grief,
and bring us at last back into your light.


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