It is that kind of day. Two months ago, at a local farm I made this wreath from moist root, dead branch and thorn tails. I left it to dry, wrapt in gauze tissue, then forgot all about it. Today my husband NJ put it on the mantel. It was still fragrant with raw bark, and tree tang. And some softened thorn sting.
Good Friday is that kind of day. Life at Crossbeams. In the raw. Decibels of disbelief. The chaos of Belief! I gawk at it all hang jaw.
Yep, did it. A tribute I always wanted to offer to the One & only Yeshuva!
Wasn’t easy doing “Via Dolarosa” but for a still moment, I felt me standing there on that deadly route, watching as the gory trek uphill happened….. for you, for me:
this One who would do all that for a planet full of us. A Saviour to savor! A word to mull in this week, while we each go through changing life styles, in an earth season like never before. Am so grateful for the Cross and how It changes me, every single day, every single day, redeeming my time, life, existence. Am trusting you get that too. This need to savor the cross, relish cherish the Friend that’d lay His life down ‘for you, for me…’
Alone, all the way. No likes or approval. Not a single friend that deadly Friday. After all the miracles and love, everything died. No visitors in your cell, no long last hugs except the 40 lashes. Your last Song, a lone cry, “Father forgive them they know not what they do.”
Sometimes I feel You more than other days, days of alone. Then I thankyou for these times, here we are closest to the ‘disgrace of the Cross’. Here there is no applause, no data of glory. Just the loneliness. Here I meet You best, my Saviour, Friend. Here alone.
Two things here- stark contrasting Pair : a death instrument, and True Love’s pandemic Stare.
It’s a still, cool night here. Mild rain showers soften the air with the distinct scent of mingling trees outside. 2000 years ago now, Good Friday would dawn with historic consequences: there’d be a Cross with a Man on it, who whether we like it or not impacts humanity in ways we would never be able to extinguish.
I’m grateful for the Cross. It Changes me, constantly. It teaches me to never give up on each other, to never hold a hurt, to never be afraid of what can kill the body, it teaches me about the immorality of human souls, it teaches me to Love unconditionally. Teaches: present continuous tense: Learning is a long big trajectory curve, we are learning, leaning, standing tall, braving odds, wiping back tears of frustration, grief, aloneness…
we are in a type of Gethesemane, we are judge and jury of the Times: how will we fare, who’s going to be crucified today? Ourself? Some of us do that; nah, we could never carry His Cross, ours’ are little baby Crosses(our sufferings) comparatively…
each time we watch our son go through a new ordeal, we also see the miles he’s done. Out there, are amazing people who’ve had losses this season and walk back out the door with a smile for the rest of their fellow survivors. I’ve seen Him in the faces of ‘ordinary folk’ who literally sacrifice time and energy for others. I do so little, I try but it’s not easy. Yet there are some very precious humans right now, braving odds, rioting against failure to support someone, people with guts of steel and hearts of pure gold. I see it in my daughters’ young faces, their strength, and ability to make us laugh again, or sing, dance, no matter the day, even pray. These are evidence for me that God is here. I believe that every moment on that Cross was God in dialogue with us. His last seven phrases ? Read here. We do not have a God who does not know what we go through:
His cry to the Father: Why have you forsaken me?This one in particular holds me, holds me, holds me this season as our earth plunges into a time of the deepest hurt. Why?
Father into your hands I commit my spirit.Oh this Cry, it’s very statement calls me to a novel type of Father Love, free of humanness, of even gravity….
I must close, wrap this Post. Am sleepy like the disciples who could not wait a little longer with Him as He pled with them to, in the garden of Gethesemane where He would weep tears of blood.
I know He’s reading this, and that He reads you and me. There are very few things I really know, but this one nails home the truth of His kind of pandemic Love: No one else loves like This.
This season I’m holding on to what held me this far. As India goes into her most critical stage here of Covid, I must prepare to realise life is certified Short. There is no permanence here. We weren’t born with certificates of deathlessness; there’s more to Us than Malls and pretty parties. Pain is a sign of that. Grief is a mirror. Fear prowls but Love is the key, it turns the Lock in doors waiting to be opened. Sometimes we hear a Knock, a gentle Whisper…