Our first Key Idea about Jesus is that he was a real human being (as well as being God) who lived in a real time and place. Room 2 have learnt lots about what life was like for Jesus. They have made a "Jesus house" in their classroom and they are playing at drawing water from the well and preparing food the way Jesus would have.
As part of their Communion of Saints Learning, Room 4 have been learning about choices.
They have learnt that if you consistently make a bad choice it becomes harder and harder to make good choices. They've also learnt that no matter how many bad choices you've made if you ask forgiveness and truly make the effort to change and ask for help if you need it, that you don't have to be defined by your bad decisions and God will always forgive you if you mean it. That is the whole point of the sacrifice Jesus made for us.
Room 3 learned about the major events in Mary's life through reading and discussing scripture. Then we wrote another account of these events from Mary's perspective using skills that we have been practicing in our Writing throughout the year. Here are some examples of our work:
My heart sinks as I see my own son fall to the ground. Closing my eyes, I can’t bear to see him suffer any longer. As he collapses again I feel a cold stream of bitter, salty tears drizzle quickly down my face. Seeing the muddy soil rush closer and closer towards my face, I collapse onto the rigid, dusty soil. This is the end. With tears still streaming down my face, I see my reflection in a small piece of glass” Please God help my son!’’ Thinking of the torture that my son has to face is agonising. ”Lord do not be far from him!’’ I say to myself as I worry for my suffering son. Watching him take his last few steps, the cross is positioned and my heart beats no longer, I breathe and once more cry. For my son has truly done great things. “This,” I say “This is the end.”
A bright yellow light flashed into my
window. Closer and closer it came. Then all of a sudden a human like figure with a golden gown stood in the middle of my kitchen. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t run. So many thoughts were whizzing around my brain. Do I speak or scream? Talk or run? I wished and hoped God’s power would keep me safe. “ I am an angel from Heaven. God has chosen you to be the mother of his child. You must call him Jesus.” I heard her gentle voice say. I prayed that God would tell me what to say. She’s waiting . I can tell by the way she’s moving, bouncing from foot to foot. ’I will do it!” I announce not thinking. The light vanishes and I blink a couple of times, wondering if it was a dream. It was not. All is normal. But life will change for ever. I could smell danger. I still can. But I have faith in God that he will keep me safe.
Today was the day, he is dead on a red, stained cross. I believe it was Judas and his ‘gang’ who condemned him to death. It all started when he was talking to God; Judas came, bent down and put his lips on his cheek, he knew and I knew, he was going to die. Then he had to carry his cross to Calvary. I watched him struggle under the weight of his own cross on his back. Two people came to help, Veronica and Simon. Veronica wiped his face as he was so sweaty and Simon ran from the crowd as Jesus lay in the dust. I heard the sound offabric ripping deafen my ears as his clothes were torn off by the men in uniform. He also had a crown of thorns shoved onto his head, I think they were mocking him as a king. I could see theagony in his face. The blood was dripping down his arm from the nails embedded in his palms and ankles.
Three hours later he was dead.
My heart aches. My son is crouched carrying a big wooden cross on his small, long back. I hear people screaming in anger. It is terrible to watch. He is hot and sweating, he is broken and bleeding. I see him trip and fall. A leather whip strikes across his back, he cries out in pain. Finally, he reaches the top of the hill. My son is scarred, bruised and cut. ‘BANG, BANG,BANG!’ The soldiers bash nails through my son’s wrists. I am horrified. My son has been crucified. I feel the long green grass tingle on my feet, I am standing there speechless. I don’t know what to do or say. I’m just standing there looking at my much loved son, nailed to a hard, heavy, wooden cross. I pray and believe in God’s will that my special son will be able to speak and breathe again. After three hours of agony. He takes his last breath and says, “Father in your hands I place my spirit.” And then, my son dies.
The Boy Jesus
“Jesus, Jesus where are you?” Those were the words that were racing through my head as I panicked down the dusty road. Dear God, can you please give my son back into my arms. Joseph and I were bursting with nervous thoughts. “Will we find him?” Where could he be?” We searched shops and churches but there was still no luck . I felt the dust climbing up my body and sweat dripping down my face. I listen as the church bells ring as we keep on walking. I watch as the donkeys run across the road, the smell of nearby fruit trees drift up my nose. I believed that I would find my son, because of my love for God, I know we will find him. We reached the safety of the temples tall walls and searched through God’s place. And there I found him on his knees praying to God. I wrapped him tightly in my arms and instantly felt happy.
I hoped to never let him out of my sight again.
I was following Jesus, just watching him carry the humongous cross, screaming inside in agony. It was horrifying to watch. I was walking up the steep hill behind my son, my son! My son who has been beat up, my son! He finally reaches the top, battered and bruised, whipped and punched. He fell onto the hard grassy, gravely ground like he was dead, and just lay there. The men whipped him. I wish that this never happened! He finally lifted himself up and stumbled over to the cross, he lay down and his hands were nailed to the cross with sharp, metal nails. His painful screams filled the air. They picked up the cross with him nailed to it and pushed it into a hole in the ground. And they were done. He was hanging there, I’m going to lose him! I prayed to God that his life in Heaven would be good. I stayed there just watching him. The guards all went. I was the only one there, and finally He left me. ‘Goodbye Jesus my son.’ It was the saddest moment of my life.
As soon as Jesus died I felt lonely with no child, but I prayed I would be ok with the disciples as friends. “You’ll be ok.” They keep telling me and I believe I will be. I believed Jesus would come back and see me one day, but he didn’t, instead he sent a large gust of wind and fire. The Holy Spirit was his gift to us. I backed up to the wall when I saw the fire dancing in flames on our heads. But because of my love for God I knew I would be ok. My eyes started to water when the smoke drifted up my nose. I could see the disciples were scared so I told them “It’s ok, Jesus has sent down the Holy Spirit to comfort us and give us courage to spread the word.” I know this because I have belief in God.
I trudge drearily along the dusty, gravel road. The bright yellow sun beats me down. On the way, I pray that Elizabeth, my cousin will be there. I see a small, black square in the distance. This might be Elizabeth’s house! The bluebirds are Singing gladly under the shade of the trees. Under a leafy tree, I rest and take a sip of water. Then I set off again. I believe that I would get there in time for dinner. The small square in the distance is getting bigger. I feel my sandals cracking in the hot sun. Because of my love for God, I say his prayer as I trek along. Some time later, I knock at Elizabeth’s door. ‘Mary come in’,Elizabeth exclaims!
Today I prayed for Jesus as he was stripped of his clothes by the soldiers. They whipped his body. It was horrifying. They pushed a crown of thorns hard onto his head. The soldiers forced him to carry the cross. He was exhausted and fell for the first time. My heart ached as the soldiers pushed him on. He made his way to the top of Calvary hill. Jesus lay on his cross. The soldiers tied their ropes onto Jesus’ arms and he was nailed to the cross. Blood flowed from his body. Then, he was dead. I don’t know what to do or say. I just stood there looking up at my much loved son, Jesus. Dead. Crucified. But, I hope, I know that Jesus, my son will come again.
The boy Jesus
I was walking down the dusty road, I turned around and Jesus was gone. Where is he?’’ goose bumps cover my arms. I run from shop to market but I still can’t find him. “Jesus!” I called but I still can’t find him. I start to shake, I have to find him. In my head I pray that I will find him soon. Where is my son? For Jesus, I push myself on. What about the temple? I run to the temple and wrench the shiny and golden door with a screech. Jesus issitting on a seat listening to the priests. I ran to him and wrapped my arms around him. ’’What are you doing here?” I ask. I'm in my fathers temple,’’ he replies.