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Mark 14:53-54


I watched his shadow
from a distance.
It is difficult to cast a shadow
in the middle of the night
yet he could
still there was enough light in him
to turn his surroundings
charcoal grey

and I sat with the servants
cold in my fingers
and chill in my soul

and it never seemed to warm

Fill the remainder of the five minutes with music (The Poet Acts (Philip Glass))




Mark 14:62-66


I am the sacrifice
I am the forgiveness
I am the word
I am all you fear might be real
I am the truth against power
I am the scapegoat
I am the silence
I am the bread
I am the love
The Love

I am

Fill the remainder of the five minutes with music (Chorale (Ola Gjeilo))




Mark 16:1-5

He was silent.
Such is the way truth speaks unto power.
You can debate with words,
you can argue with the nuances
wrangle over how things are said and what they mean.

But you can’t do that with silence.

Pilate could hear the crowd,
could hear the lies,
hear the conspiracy,
feel the fear,

and he heard Jesus reply,
and knew the truth of that silence;

and he shook his head
in awe at the audacity of the man before him:

what is this game he plays
in his hour of death?


Fill the remainder of the five minutes with music (The Poet Acts (Philip Glass))



Mark 16:16-19


So this is your plan:
to mock heaven
by taking love
and turning it into some April fool,
some soldiers plaything?

What kind of king have you become?
We had such high hopes!
We saw what was possible.
We saw a new world,
a saviour,
to rescue us
from empire,
and establish a new order
and return the king,

but now…


This is no kingdom for us!

We shall leave you here:
the pretend messiah,

and laugh,
for you have been found out!
Love has come to this
and we do not understand...

Fill the remainder of the five minutes with music (Chorale

(Ola Gjeilo))


Mark 16:21-24


And what are we left with
that words can speak of?

Dare we never speak again
for it will never be adequate.

Let the silence find its way around us
for only that can contain this moment.

Fill the remainder of the five minutes with music (Tebe Poem (Pavel Grigorievitch Tchesnokov))


A Good Friday Service

                          Mark 14:53-15-37

A bible reading and reflection followed by music every five minutes for an hour with an activity towards the end. We taped out a cross across the chancel floor along with four stations each containing a pile of broken things (Crockery, electronics, twigs, material and toys). People were invited to collect broken things and place within the cross on the floor: the day love broke. We've suggested music but do find your own.


Mark 14:55-61


What does love do
that makes people bear false witness
to that which saves them?

What is our fear
of that which is fearless?

The temple is already destroyed
in the speaking against love
against compassion
against that which is unconditional

And no wonder
the Word of God
had run out of words
and remained silent

for there were no words left
against his accusers

Fill the remainder of the five minutes with music (Tebe Poem (Pavel Grigorievitch Tchesnokov))



Mark 15:66-72


It doesn’t take long to count to three -
too soon.
I have denied him
and lost myself.
No matter how warm this fire is
I will never be warm again.

And he knew,
He knew I could do this.
He knew,
but I was still at the table with him,
still had my feet washed in the basin of water,
still invited to be beside him.

He knew
in this hour of the morning,
when there isn’t a day’s life left in him,
I would do this,
and still he loves.

What kind of love is this
that even the fear of death
does not stop him?

Fill the remainder of the five minutes with music (Road to Buxton (Josh Kramer))



Mark 16:6-15


“Crucify him!”
“But what crime has he committed?”
“He’s shown us ourselves.”

They say
certain people
hold a mirror up to you,

and this mirror
has never been more holy
reflecting the fear of humanity,

Just because you can’t see it
does not mean it is gone,
the reality of our human condition
still faces us.

If only we could see ourselves.

But then we can,
heading to the cross.
We do not recognise
who we have become.
Only those who live beyond self,

Fill the remainder of the five minutes with music (Tebe Poem (Pavel Grigorievitch Tchesnokov))



Mark 16:20


It’s a long road to heaven from here.

You have nothing left,
not even the clothes on your back,
not even a name that is your own,
not even a follower.

You are taken to your death,

The words have run out,
the hosannas are corrupted,
the hopes, broken.

It is a long road to heaven from here.


Fill the remainder of the five minutes with music (Road to Buxton (Josh Kramer))



Mark 16:25-32 (written by Kirstin Freeman)


Nine in the morning
dew still twinkling on the grass
the daily water still being collected from the wells
the nets still being mended
the day still fresh and full of promise.

Journeys begun
preparing of food
children laughing
Festival time.

In the temple
the rising of incense
the exchanging of money
the bleating of a lamb.

The pleading of a wife
repeated washing of hands
recounting words
said and unsaid.

A city buzzing with life
with talk
with wonder


The thud of wood hitting the hard ground
a heavy hammer passing from hand to hand
iron tearing through flesh
into the tree
the tree of life
blood pooling on the ground
rich and red
shed for others
cries of pain
gentle eyes
full of love.

Soldiers grunting, sweating, swearing
lifting first one
then another
then a third
they fall into place
clunk, clunk, clunk
three cross bars hung high
he was not alone
two hung with him
one with remorse
one with resentment.

It was nine in the morning.

A gentle moan
the rough iron grinds on the ragged flesh
as his weight hangs on the long nails
hands which had brought healing
broken bread on hillside and upper room
feet which had walked along dusty roads
and been washed with tears and costly ointment.

Vibrations travelling through the wood
reverberating to bone and flesh
King of the Jews
each quiver charge.

Some looked on
in unbelief
in deepest sorrow
in passive silence.

While others scoffed
flesh and bone destroyed,
not temple stones.


The sun moves across the sky
the heat of the day attracting flies
around the sorry sight.

People come and go
some to scoff
some out of morbid curiosity
some in disbelief.
The soldiers whisper their gruesome tales
marking their waiting time
waiting for death
still hours away
or so they thought.

Broken things

(We created a cross made of masking tape taped onto the chancel. We invited folk to go to the stations around the worship space, each with a pile of broken things on it (china, toys, twigs, electrics etc) and bring them to the cross and fill in the cross)


Fill the remainder of the time till 3pm with music (Spiegel im Spiegel (Arvo Part))

Spoken at intervals during broken things.

Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.
Today you will be with me in paradise.
Behold your son: behold your mother.
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
I thirst.
It is finished.

At 3pm

Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.

Years ago it was hung
that barrier to God
rich and splendid
keeping the people out
keeping them in their place
no more.

Tear fabric

Truly this was God’s Son.


Limp and lifeless he was taken down
No breath,
Congealing blood
Heavy body
Heavy hearts

Lovingly he was taken down
but no time to wash
no anointing
bundled into spare cloaks
and carried with tears
he was taken
to a cold
bed of stone

boulder rolled
the Light put out.


Silence as people leave

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