Isaiah 53:3-6

March 29, 2013

He is despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. And we hid, as it were, our faces from him; he was despised, and we did not esteem him. (Isaiah 53:3)
      Holy Spirit, bring all of us in the Episcopal Church to repentance — to the place where we will truly honor and esteem Jesus.

Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. (Isaiah 53:4)
      Jesus, thank you for bearing our griefs and sorrows. Thank you for standing with us in our hour of need.

But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement for our peace was upon him, and by his stripes we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5)
      Father, it was your love for us that sent Jesus to suffer and die for us. Thank you.

All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned, every one, to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all. (Isaiah 53:6)
      Jesus, you are the shepherd of our souls, bring all who have wandered off back into your flock. Thank you.

A word received: I AM your help — keep looking to me.

Good Friday: 95* & 22; *; 40:1-14(15-19),54; Wisdom 1:16-2:1;12-22; 1 Peter 1:10-20; John 13:36-38**; or Gen. 22:1-14; John 19:38-42***
Good Friday: 22:1-21 or 22:1-11 or 40:1-14 or 69:1-23; Isaiah 52:13-53:12 or Genesis 22:1-18 or Wisdom 2:1,12-24; Hebrews 10:1-25; John (18:1-40) 19:1-37
Holy Saturday; 95** & 88; *; 27: Job 19:21-27a; Heb. 4:1-16**; Rom. 8:1-11***
Holy Saturday: 130 31:1-5; Job 14:1-1; 1 Peter 4:1-8; Matthew 27:57-66 or John 19:38-42
      * For the Invitatory; ** Intended for use in the morning; ***; Intended for use in the evening

      Notes from the Front Line

***** Lisa Longe: Please keep all people involved in making school budget decisions in prayer.

***** From: Nigel Mumford
Sent: Friday, March 29, 2013
Subject: GOOD FRIDAY
Every morning I look at my face in the mirror to shave.
Every morning I see the tracheotomy scar on my throat.
Every morning I think, “Wow, I am alive.”
Every morning I thank God for answered prayer.
This morning, Good Friday, I look at HIS scars…
And thank Jesus that He died for me…FOR ME.
~Fr. Nigel Mumford+

***** Schenectady City Mission Prayer Table Report, Thursday, March 28, 2013, 5:00 – 6:15 p.m.. Torre and Jean Bissell from Christ Church Schenectady. This took place during the evening meal at the City Mission.

+–indicates received a wooden cross made by Dennis Adams of North Carolina
a–indicates anointed with Holy Water

a Peter — We rejoiced with him for the soon expected child to be born to him and Connie and we prayed for his brother George to be guided into the life and ministry the Holy Spirit has for him.

Dan — We prayed with Dan for his three daughters and their situations.

Ron (regular) — He gave thanks that he is now having weekly visits with his daughter Isabella.

+Anthony — We prayed for him as he ministers at the Schenectady City Mission.

+a Mark (June’s son) — We prayed for the family reunion he is organizing (first in 20 years). It will be on the 5th anniversary of his wedding where he and his wife will renew their wedding vows..

Albany Intercessor


WA Criswell: He is dead… He is dead… He is dead. Then, then then…

March 29, 2013

He was raised between the heaven and the earth, as though both rejected Him, despised by men and refused by God.

And as though abuse were not vile enough, they covered Him with spittle.

And as though spittle were not contemptuous enough, they plucked out His beard.

And as though plucking out His beard was not brutal enough, they drove in great nails.

And as though the nails did not pierce deeply enough, He was crowned with thorns.

And as though the thorns were not agonizing enough, He was pierced through with a Roman spear.

It was earth’s saddest hour, and it was humanity’s deepest, darkest day.

At three o’clock in the afternoon it was all over. The Lord of life bowed His head and the light of the world flickered out.

Tread softly around the cross, for Jesus is dead. Repeat the refrain in hushed and softened tones: the Lord of life is dead.

The lips that spoke forth Lazarus from the grave are now stilled in the silence of death, and the head that was anointed by Mary of Bethany is bowed with its crown of thorns.

The eyes that wept over Jerusalem are glazed in death, and the hands that blessed little children are nailed to a tree.

And the feet that walked on the waters of blue Galilee are fastened to a cross, and the heart that went out in compassionate love and sympathy for the poor and the lost of the world is now broken; He is dead.

The infuriated mob that cried for His crucifixion gradually disperses; He is dead.

And the passersby who stop just to see Him go on their way; He is dead.

The Pharisees, rubbing their hands in self-congratulation, go back to the city; He is dead. 

And the Sadducees, breathing sighs of relief, return to their coffers in the temple; He is dead.

The centurion assigned the task of executing Him makes his official report to the Roman procurator, “He is dead.” 

And the four, the quaternion of soldiers sent to dispatch the victims, seeing the Man on the center cross was certainly dead, brake not His bones, but pierce Him through with a spear; He is dead.

And Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus of the Sanhedrin go personally to Pontius Pilate and beg of the Roman governor His body, because He is dead. 

Mary His mother and the women with her are bowed in sobs and in tears; He is dead.  

And the eleven apostles, like frightened sheep, crawl into eleven shadows to hide from the pointing finger of Jerusalem and they cry, “He is dead!” 

Wherever His disciples met, in an upper room, or on a lonely road, or behind closed doors, or in hiding places, the same refrain is sadly heard, “He is dead. He is in a tomb; they have sealed the grave and set a guard; He is dead.”

It would be almost impossible for us to enter into the depths of despair that gripped their hearts.

Simon Peter, the rock, is a rock no longer.

And James and John, the sons of Boanerges, are sons of thunder no longer.

And Simon the Zealot is a zealot no longer.

He is dead, and the hope of the world has perished with Him.

Then, then, then…

– W.A. Criswell (1909 – 2002)

via Trevin Wax


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