Night Prayer

Keep us safe, Lord, while we are awake, and guard us as we sleep

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The servant’s name was Malchus.

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Easter Midrash  An imagined story of Good Friday  "The servant’s name was Malchus." John 18:10 The servant's name is Malchus. I am not dead yet, rather, far from it. I don't know how others felt when they were healed but the inside of a miracle is a place of light and clarity beyond any new dawn. The complex weaving of skin only reflecting the myriad unravelling of thoughts and memories below the surface. Paths of life's story being made straight. My name is Malchus. Named by my mother. Her bedtime tale that I was named after the appearance, in Jerusalem, of regal scholars from the East. Magi seeking a king who had not yet been born. A slave herself, she had stood holding a lamp as the temple priests and scribes argued amongst themselves; no-one wishing to tell Herod that the prophecy was not for his line. When I was born just a few days later, I became her little 'king'. That's what Malchus means. I didn't thank her for it. Growing up ...
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No more fear

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Gospel Mark 9:2-10  Jesus took with him Peter and James and John and led them up a high mountain where they could be alone by themselves. There in their presence he was transfigured: his clothes became dazzlingly white, whiter than any earthly bleacher could make them. Elijah appeared to them with Moses; and they were talking with Jesus. Then Peter spoke to Jesus: ‘Rabbi,’ he said ‘it is wonderful for us to be here; so let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.’ He did not know what to say; they were so frightened. And a cloud came, covering them in shadow; and there came a voice from the cloud, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him.’ Then suddenly, when they looked round, they saw no one with them any more but only Jesus.   As they came down from the mountain he warned them to tell no one what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead. They observed the warning faithfully, though among themselves they discu...
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Sacred Spaces - St Patrick's Well

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I live on the Wirral, or in the Wirral or in Wirral depending upon your sense of geography. It's a small peninsular in the North West of England about 10 miles by seven; the River Dee separates us from the Roman city of Chester and the hills of North Wales; the River Mersey from the city of Liverpool and motorways Northwards.  Out to the West, Liverpool Bay leads into the Irish Sea and across to Ireland herself. Theoretically, I am told, it's almost an island as two ship canals come to a point where you can step from one to the other but the transport links of motorways and trains seem to defy that particular definition. Across to the Welsh Hills The Wirral is still mostly suburban or countryside, originally part of a hunting forest that was planted in the 12th Century. It has been home to Roman, Saxon, Viking and Norman settlers. Pre-Roman it was home to a Celtic tribe called the Cornovii and there is evidence of Christian Celts from the the 5th and 6th Centu...
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