Stay with Me (Maunday Thursday)

Stay with me,

he says—

but we are weary.

Weary of sorrow,

weary of waiting,

weary of a world

that keeps unraveling.

Still—

he invites.

Here in Adel Parish,

beneath ancient beams

and soft light,

we feel the weight

of that holy night.

He kneels.

He blesses.

He breaks.

And we—

with our fragile faith,

our quiet grief—

are drawn in.

The Beautiful One,

the God-Man,

heavy with sorrow,

sweats prayers into the soil.

He will be taken.

He will be torn.

And still, he says,

Stay.

Not because he needs us—

but because we

need to see

what love looks like

when it costs everything.

So we keep watch—

in the flicker of flame,

in the silence

between holy words,

feeling the presence

of angels,

the saints,

those who have gone before,

gathered near.

This evening—

a thin space,

a holy space—

where time dissolves,

and the heart, heavy with sorrow,

is held.

We stay.

We break.

We keep vigil.

And then we leave,

Jesus is now alone,

Friday awaits.

The axe will fall.

The kiss of death

will bruise the One who is Life.

And yet—

my friends—

perhaps violence will not have the final word.

For love itself

may yet

speak in the hope of Sunday dawn.