'Tortured Till Death' by Thomas Greenan

Mocked King clown,
stag thorn-crowned,
carpenter's nails impale wrists and feet.
Stripped peasant,
powerless slave sold
for thirty silver pesos.

Back bled, skin flayed,
failed prophet
forgotten for all time,
writhes displayed.
Man's creation
bitter fruit on tree of damnation.

Heat, sweat, thirst,
shroud of darkness curse.
Yeshoua screams,
lungs burst
in deep, sea-deep
despair.

Head bows,
hot tears,
corpse slumps limp
into night's silent vault.

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Varieties of Irreligious Experience

https://newhumanist.org.uk/2657/varieties-of-irreligious-experience

'The Coming' by R.S. Thomas

And God held in his hand A small globe. Look, he said. The son looked. Far off, As through water, he saw A scorched land of fierce Colour. The light burned There; crusted buildings Cast their shadows: a bright Serpent, a river Uncoiled itself, radiant With slime. On a bare Hill a bare tree saddened The sky. Many people Held out their thin arms To it, as though waiting For a vanished April To return to its crossed Boughs. The son watched Them. Let me go there, he said.

'Here hangs a man discarded' by Brian Wren

A Hymn by Brian Wren to the tune 'Kocher' Here hangs a man discarded, a scarecrow hoisted high, a nonsense pointing nowhere to all who hurry by. Can such a clown of sorrows still bring a useful word when faith and hope seem phantoms and every hope absurd? Yet here is help and comfort for lives by comfort bound, when drums of dazzling progress give strangely hollow sound: Life, emptied of all meaning, drained out in bleak distress, can share in broken silence our deepest emptiness; And love that freely entered the pit of life's despair, can name our hidden darkness and suffer with us there. Christ, in our darkness risen, help all who long for light to hold the hand of promise, till faith receives its sight.

Fides Quaerens Albus

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