Jesus of the Scars

Yesterday the mini-rugby team I coach won the Gilpin Cup- the most prestigious sports competition for local primary schools. Great reward for the hard work through the winter months.

Last night was a special gig with Julie Feeney, Foy Special, and Duke Special and the amazing Ulster Orchestra. Very different than Foy's and Duke's normal gigs but a feast for the senses never-the-less.

Normally I would have loads to say about these things but last night didn't feel normal. Though the past week has been eventful, I find it hard to do normal things, be normal places, read normal books/blogs etc when my mind is consumed with reminiscing about Lins and the pain that her passing has left on those closest to her. A pain that I can't come close to understanding. The grieving period, especially for them, is ongoing.

Stefan quoted from this poem (by Edward Shillito) in his prayer at Lindsay's funeral. Beautiful words.

If we have never sought, we seek Thee now
Thine eyes burn through the dark, our only stars;

We must have sight of thorn-pricks on Thy brow,

We must have Thee, O Jesus of the Scars.

The heavens frighten us; they are too calm;
In all the universe we have no place.
Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm?
Lord Jesus, by Thy Scars, we claim Thy grace.

If, when the doors are shut, Thou drawest near,
Only reveal those hands, that side of Thine;
We know to-day what wounds are, have no fear,
Show us Thy Scars, we know the countersign.

The other gods were strong; but Thou wast weak;

They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne;

But to our wounds only God's wounds can speak,

And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.