Holy Saturday When Jesus Christ shed his blood on the cross, it was not the blood of a read more

Holy Saturday When Jesus Christ shed his blood on the cross, it was not the blood of a martyr; or the blood of one man for another; it was the life of God poured out to redeem the world.

Commemoration of Caroline Chisholm, Social Reformer, 1877 I know the power obedience has of making things easy which seem read more

Commemoration of Caroline Chisholm, Social Reformer, 1877 I know the power obedience has of making things easy which seem impossible.

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 Heaven overarches earth and sea, Earth-sadness and sea-bitterness. Heaven overarches you and read more

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 Heaven overarches earth and sea, Earth-sadness and sea-bitterness. Heaven overarches you and me: A little while and we shall be - Please God -- where there is no more sea Nor barren wilderness. Heaven overarches you and me, And all earth's gardens and her braves. Look up with me, until we see The day break and the shadows flee. What though to-night wrecks you and me, If so to-morrow saves?

Maundy Thursday Perhaps we feel that we do not see much to encourage us. "I do not envy those read more

Maundy Thursday Perhaps we feel that we do not see much to encourage us. "I do not envy those who have to fight the battle of Christianity in the twentieth century," wrote Marcus Dods. "Yes, perhaps I do; but it will be a stiff fight." Of course, he did, and anybody with his valiant spirit would. There was a day when our Lord passed through cheering streets wildly enthusiastic; and another day when He watched the crowds deserting Him, till even the disciples themselves seemed to be withering, and He looked at them sadly. "Will you also go away?" He said. And Peter strode across the sudden empty spaces widening around Him, and put his back to Christ's. "No", he cried; "there are two of us, at least", and faced the world, Christ's poor minority of one. I would rather have been Peter than one of the shouting mob. And today, perhaps, we may get our chance of that.

Feast of Patrick, Bishop of Armagh, Missionary, Patron of Ireland, c.460 The evidence for Christian truth is not read more

Feast of Patrick, Bishop of Armagh, Missionary, Patron of Ireland, c.460 The evidence for Christian truth is not exhaustive, but it is sufficient. Too often, Christianity has not been tried and found wanting--it has been found wanting, and not tried.

Whoever preaches with love preaches sufficiently against heresy, though he may never utter a controversial word.

Whoever preaches with love preaches sufficiently against heresy, though he may never utter a controversial word.

Feast of Aidan, Bishop of Lindisfarne, Missionary, 651 Commemoration of Cuthburga, Founding Abbess of Wimborne, c.725 Commemoration of John Bunyan, read more

Feast of Aidan, Bishop of Lindisfarne, Missionary, 651 Commemoration of Cuthburga, Founding Abbess of Wimborne, c.725 Commemoration of John Bunyan, Spiritual Writer, 1688 [John Bunyan] had to live through that obscure night -- "wide, vast, and lonely" -- which fell upon St. John of the Cross before; like him, he knew that grace would enter "the dark caverns where the senses live". In the meantime, Bunyan tossed to and fro, as it were between heaven and hell. It has been said that he paints too dark a picture of his moral condition when a young man, that he exaggerates his wickedness at this period, and afterwards wrestles with phantoms of his vivid imagination. But spiritual sins, though not so obvious as those that are sensual, may be just as real; and Bunyan's intensity of feeling and expression arose from the intensity of his spiritual nature.

Feast of Etheldreda, Abbess of Ely, c.678 O for a closer walk with God, A calm and heavenly frame, read more

Feast of Etheldreda, Abbess of Ely, c.678 O for a closer walk with God, A calm and heavenly frame, A light to shine upon the road That leads me to the Lamb Return, O holy Dove, return, Sweet messenger of rest! I hate the sins that made Thee mourn And drove Thee from my breast The dearest idol I have known, Whate'er that idol be, Help me to tear it from Thy throne, And worship only Thee. So shall my walk be close with God, Calm and serene my frame; So purer light shall mark the road That leads me to the Lamb.

As Christ drew near to death, He Himself trembled. It was an experience of all His creation, but He had read more

As Christ drew near to death, He Himself trembled. It was an experience of all His creation, but He had never felt it. To His humanity, His assumed flesh, it seemed terrible -- Gethsemane bears witness how terrible it seemed; but He passed into it for love of us.