Colin Edwards

@pj_schreiner I once heard a voice actor musing on how to say the name "Mary" here. Was Jesus laughing and bubbly? Aching for and with her? Perplexed at her not recognising him? Slightly ster ? Each way the actor said it made sense, but most important was that he called her name

He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?” Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.” Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”). - John 20.15–16

Spurs reminding itself that resurrection is possible. @TheSpursExpress

Christ is risen! Alleluia. The Risen Christ stands beside you, calling your name and inviting you into the resurrection life.

‘He is not here: for he is risen, as he said.’ Hallelujah! A happy and blessed Easter to all my followers. #EasterDay

The Garden of Gethsemane is where Jesus prayed alone in the dark, knowing what was coming.....and chose to face it anyway.

‘Stock unpicks what Shakespeare’s Portia calls ‘the quality of mercy’ in such fine detail that by the end this reluctant reader’s previous certainties were unsettled… A knowledge of human nature suggests that what seems like mercy could tip us into ‘moral darkness’.’

🙄The fringe idea that we all have a 'gender identity' that may or may not match our biological sex is the whole point of this discussion. Trans activists act as though the existence of 'gender identity' is a settled, self-evident point, when to the vast majority of the world it's unevidenced, quasi-religious, pseudoscientific nonsense, which has been imposed top down on our society with serious consequences for vulnerable women and troubled youth in particular. Meaningful discussion about competing needs and rights cannot happen inside an elitist ideological bubble where everyone is forced to adopt gender ideology's approved jargon, accept its self-contradicting slogans as fact and pretend fact-light assertions and feeble sophistry are critical thinking. You tell us to 'educate' ourselves, by which you mean, 'adopt our beliefs unquestioningly,' but at this point, most of us know your arguments off by heart. These include, but are not limited to: feelings trump facts and unless we agree we're 'erasing people from existence'; women and girls aren't definable entities, so why should they be entitled to their own sports and single-sex spaces; clownfish and people with DSDs mean sex is 'on a spectrum' and 'woman' is a set of stereotypes associated with the female sex class, so it doesn't matter if you've got a penis, if you identify with those stereotypes you're 'valid'. The reason we haven't been won over by these talking points and remain so tragically 'uneducated' isn't that we've failed to grasp the sophistication of your world view. It's that we think you're talking unadulterated bullshit and making fools of yourselves.

The full Newman quote is below: “Thus in the Cross, and Him who hung upon it, all things meet; all things subserve it, all things need it. It is their centre and their interpretation. For He was lifted up upon it, that He might draw all men and all things unto Him.”

Kathleen Stock on Assisted Dying ... it degrades us ALL outstandingly thoughtful review @BelMooney who says ⁦@Docstockk⁩ has changed her mund about eurhabasia dailymail.co.uk/home/books/art…

Incredible review of my new book Do Not Go Gentle in the Daily Mail, from avowed supporter of Dignity in Dying Bel Mooney: "I gladly admit she has all but changed my mind." Kathleen Stock on Assisted Dying ... it degrades us ALL dailymail.co.uk/home/books/art… via @MailOnline

Good Friday reminder: “The man on the middle cross said I could come.”

Crucifix Honey Every April they sweeten the cross. Package the blood. Soften the nails. Put a choir behind the screaming so it sounds like music. Crucifix honey. He died on a garbage hill covered in flies while Jerusalem ate dinner. Not in a cathedral. Not in a painting. Not in the stained glass window your grandmother pointed at when you were six and told you that man loved you. On a trash heap. Outside the city. Where they dumped dead animals. Where the dogs came at night. That’s where God died. Naked. Bones showing through His back. Mouth so dry His tongue stuck to His jaw. Soldiers underneath Him gambling for His shirt like it was a scratch-off ticket. His mother stood there. Couldn’t touch Him. Couldn’t hold His hand. Just watched the boy she nursed in a barn choke to death on a Roman post while flies landed on what used to be His back. And the church put a frame around it. Sanded down the wood. Took the splinters out of the cross and made it smooth enough to hang around a pretty neck. We turned the execution of God into decoration. The Romans drove the nails. We gold-plated them. Crucifix honey. He sweat blood in a garden because His body tried to die before they could kill Him. And we walk past it every Sunday like it’s wallpaper. He carried His own death up a hill on a back that didn’t have skin on it. And we put the cross on a bumper sticker between the stick figure family and the fish. He screamed. And we made it a holiday.

Anyone still donating to these clowns should consider how they redacted the Bar Standards Board decision. Ostensibly to shield the identity of their client, poor wee flower 'Kate', but in reality to hide the clear fact their client is simply an unbalanced, abusive man.

Mission begins with a kind of explosion of joy. The news that the rejected and crucified Jesus is alive is something that cannot possibly be suppressed. It must be told.

See, from his head, his hands, his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down. Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, Or thorns compose so rich a crown. #GoodFriday

Today is publication day for my book DO NOT GO GENTLE: The Case Against Assisted Death. Kim Leadbeater's bill was the catalyst for writing it, and at the time, it felt like the task was urgent. Back then, the positive stories about assisted death sounded to me like fairytales. I wanted to explore the reality of assisted death more deeply. Justifications offered by supporters were so often mindless mantras about rights and "choice", but I wanted to see how it all fitted together, and what choices it gave to vulnerable people in reality. The writing period was a strange time. Every day I faced the fact of mortality, the nature of pain and suffering, and the darker sides of human nature. Yet I was also completely uplifted by the selfless compassion that humans can show to one another, when life is ebbing away. This week, Leadbeater's bill runs out of time. There is already talk by pro-MPs and lobbyists of flooding the private members' bill ballot, so that a similar bill arrives in the next parliamentary session. In the meantime, the public has some time to think properly about what kind of society we actually want. Is it one where state-sponsored death is treated as a solution to social ills? Or can we stand together to get something better, and far less bleak? Though times are hard, I still hope for the latter. I also hope that my book will be widely read, and especially by those tempted by fairytales.

@ChrisHowles As it should be. Top and centre.

On the night before his death, Jesus got up from the table, stripped off his outer robe, and washed his disciples' feet. This was slave's work. No rabbi would do it. No master would consider it. But when he finished and returned to the table, he didn't soften what had just happened. He sharpened it. "You call me Teacher and Lord, and you're right. That's what I am." And then: "So if I, your Lord, have done this, you should do it for each other." Most of us assume power and service are opposites. You're either the one giving orders or the one on your knees. Jesus says no. When God holds the power, it kneels. Not because it stopped being power, but because this is what real power actually does. And "do as I have done" is not moral advice. It is Christological. He's saying: this is who I am, and now this is who you're becoming. The Church washes feet not as a nice tradition but as an extension of the incarnate life of the Son.

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