From the Scriptures

"When I go you will not be left alone; I will come back to you. In a little while the world will see me no more, but you will see me; and because I live, you also will live."

John 14:18-19

YOUTH WORLD

The Two Foundations

Rev. Suresh Pawar. Chaplain, Religious Works Department

We have entered the season of Lent. It begins on Ash Wednesday and lasts for forty days. We follow a tradition of self-discipline, which in a token way reflects our Lord’s days of fasting in the wilderness. Let us enter this period with sincerity and humility, examine ourselves in the light of the scriptures, and may this time teach us to live our lives to what God requires not only during this time but all our life.

The following poem is written by Joyce Donoghue and is taken from the book “Even angels tread softly”- a Mother’s Union anthology of poetry:

ONCE ON A FRIDAY . . .
Watch how the Master Carpenter
offer himself in sacrifice:
see unskilled hands, unfeeling, drive
their nails through living hands,
impale him on their rough-hewn planks,
then raise him up . . . and watch him die.
Gracious, he prays:
“Father, forgive . . .
they do not understand,”
speaks words of welcome to the thief
who in extremis knows him Lord;
entrusts his mother to his friend . . .
and then, only then,
his care for others now complete,
from depths of desolation, comes
loneliest, saddest cry:
“My God” – not “Abba” now –
“Why, why has thou forsaken me?”
Another pause – Satan still whispering
“Why not indeed come down?
Who then could disbelieve?”
Final temptation this: Gethsemane again;
Is there no other way?
He cries,
a great cry that the watchers do not understand –
and then that battle won,
the voluntary sacrifice, the final act of love.
Enveloped in our sin, weighed down
in darkness, agonized, yet trusting still,
as last he signs “Tis done!” and softly breaths
“Father, into your hands . . .”
The victory won, the Son of Man departs
and mortal men, disturbed,
survey what they have done.
The Crucified hangs limp upon the cross –
untenanted, his body waits
for gentle human hands;
His spirit gathers strength for Easter’s Resurrection.

                                                            *******

When I survey the wondrous Cross,
On which the Prince of Glory died;
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.
Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an offering far too small,
Love so amazing, so Divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.