Good Friday

The Jesus Tree.

The story is told that in September of 1992 a girl and her parents were walking through Wooster Square. Her health and sight was compromised due to a rare illness. She was accustomed to walking with her parents in the park. As they were walking one evening she asked her parents, "I am I crazy or did I just see our Lord in that tree?" Only, it wasn't Jesus it was a gnarled Sycamore tree. Or was it? People came in reverence that year and laid flowers at the tree.

I'm reminded of the old and favorite hymn "Beneath the Cross of Jesus" by Elizabeth C. Clephane 1830-1869.

Beneath the cross of Jesus I fain would take my stand, the shadow of a mighty rock within a weary land; a home within the wilderness, a rest upon the way, from the burning of the noontide heat, and the burden of the day.

Upon that cross of Jesus mine eye at times can see the very dying form of One who suffered there for me; and from my stricken heart with tears two wonders I confess: the wonders of redeeming love and my unworthiness.

I take, O cross, thy shadow for my abiding place; I ask no other sunshine than the sunshine of his face; content to let the world go by, to know no gain nor loss, my sinful self my only shame, my glory all the cross.