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Good Friday
Am I a stone and not a sheep That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy Cross, To number drop by drop Thy Blood’s slow
Let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus…
(Hebrews 12:1-2)
Am I a stone and not a sheep That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy Cross, To number drop by drop Thy Blood’s slow
Still as of old Men by themselves are priced– For thirty pieces Judas sold Himself, not Christ. Hester H. Cholmondeley
Gethsemane All those who journey, soon or late, Must pass within the garden gate. Must kneel alone in the darkness there. And battle with some
There are a few poems that I have literally loved for decades. In this week leading up to the death of Christ (calendar-wise, at least),
It was a sacred moment, our first Cornerstone Chapel communion, a week before Palm Sunday. With such a small group, we have the luxury of
“Are you Mennonite?” the agent asked with a warm smile. “Yes,” I said. The agent was leading a small circle at the writers conference I