Today is Good Friday, or was half an hour ago. I've been a senior citizen for more than a decade now, and, like most of us, an orphan without even an aunt or uncle left to call on the phone. Death does not unsettle me anymore.
When thinking about the events we commemorate on this day, I most often think of Mary standing unobtrusively near as they unfold until she stands beneath the cross watching her 33 year old son, a good boy and a fine man, suffer and die. It's hard for her to be there, but she has to be there, however much it hurts, because He is her son, He is in pain and she can't let Him go through this alone.
When someone explains the crucifixion in terms of balancing the scales of justice it makes no sense to me. What does make sense, however, is that in a world where everyone bears the responsibility for making his or her own decisions, mistakes are made, bad things, even evil things are as likely to happen as good things. Someday, perhaps, I may understand redemptive suffering, but right now the best I can do is understand this in terms of Jesus' example - - by choosing to forfeit rather than insisting on His rights, He averted a war. The take-home lesson is that we shouldn't do anything that will make things worse, even if that means refraining from insisting on our own rights. In that sense, allowing ourselves to suffer means others don't have to.
Sometimes the Good Friday service moves me to tears. This year, however, I walked away feeling empty. It was dimly reminiscent of the day not so long ago when I walked away from my best friend's grave, mildly surprised to realize that I am still alive, noticing that I would probably need to eat supper after a while.
This year I can follow Mary a bit farther. She will go home to pack up a few things and move in with John, or John will move into Jesus' room. What next? They didn't know back then, we don't know now. Fix supper, maybe. Pray.
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