Praying Together 25th February 2024

Lent 2

Collects

Almighty God, you show to those who are in error the light of your truth
that they may return to the way of righteousness: Grant to all those who are admitted into the fellowship of Christ’s religion, that they may reject those things that are contrary to their profession, and follow all such things as are agreeable to the same; through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Almighty and everlasting God, you hate nothing that you have made and forgive the sins of all those who are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts that we, worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness, may receive from you, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Romans 4: 13-25

Mark 8: 31-38

As part of our reflections during Lent, we are challenged to ask ourselves – ‘Which am I – the chicken or the pig? Jesus makes it clear that in following Him, there is no half-way house – our values are either of the material world, or of the Kingdom. Either temporary or eternal. Commitment or just involvement? Can’t have both.

Peter doesn’t understand yet. In many ways, you have to feel a bit sorry for him. His world is one in which victory is won according to human terms, in which suffering and death are the consequence of defeat. When Jesus talks about these things happening to Himself, Peter just can’t cope – if this stuff about Jesus’ suffering, rejection and murder is true, then his faith in Jesus as the Messiah is shaken to its foundations, so much so that he dares to rebuke Jesus – you can almost hear him saying “Don’t say these things! That’s defeatist talk!”

He gets a telling off, and still probably doesn’t know why.

But he will do soon.

“The difference between involvement and commitment is like ham and eggs. The chicken is involved; the pig is committed.”

Martina Navratilova

Funny kind of Victory

A short battle, it was;
no flags and no trumpets,
not a fair fight.
One naked man with outstretched arms
against chain mail and spears.
They gave Him thorns,
gave Him whips,
gave Him sour wine and their spittle,
gave Him nails… but gave Him no honour.
It’s over now.
He dies alone, and the quiet is hard to bear.
Even the banter of the soldiers is hushed;
only the sound of the wind and the aching world,
bound and fearful for so long,
waiting for its freedom.
Funny kind of battle, it was;
one man against legion.
Funny kind of victory
when the victor dies.
I wonder if the loser knew;
I wonder if the shaking of the earth
or the tearing of the curtain distracted him?
Or did he see, and despair to see,
the Christ-blood
washing the earth beneath the cross?
Funny when a victory’s won by seeming loss.