NOT ME, LORD…
Last year, my daughter Clare dozed off during the Holy Thursday mass. One of the Sisters made her a little bed out of extra cloth that is normally used in the chapel ambiance. My daughter lay tucked beneath a stained-glass window as the prayers of the community continued. I was struck by the two complimentary images of sacrifice: my daughter on the floor and the Lamb of God in the Eucharist.
I have been feeling more compassion for the Apostles this Lenten season. “Then he returned once more and found them asleep, for they could not keep their eyes open.” I would never fall asleep if Jesus asked me to keep watch with him! Instead of judging the Apostles so harshly, I imagine them tired and worn out by the confusing events of the week. They may have known Jesus was distressed but truly believed He would prevail and God would save Him. Sometimes the complexities of life are just too overwhelming, and all we want is to escape… to be anywhere but where we are.
During the Passion narrative, the congregation repeats the words of the crowds. We aren’t just remembering what happened 2,000 years ago, but accepting that the responses in Scripture are our own. “Surely it is not I, Lord?" I want someone else to be responsible for denying Jesus, for turning away the person in need. When you drive on the freeways or side streets of Los Angeles, the face of homelessness cannot be ignored. Sitting at a stoplight this week, I watched a woman hurl a chair at another homeless person. Surely, this is not the wounded Christ? I want to avert my eyes from the homeless, the grieving, the depressed, the immigrant, the lost. The problems are too big, the pain too complex. Surely it is not me who might look with love?
When Clare was a toddler, she fixated on the soldiers during these Palm Sunday readings. She pointed to the Stations of the Cross and said, “Soldiers, take it out. Take out nails.” She could not understand all the layers of betrayal and deceit; she could not understand a prophecy being fulfilled. All Clare knew was that hurting Jesus was a bad idea. The lengthy Gospel today can be overwhelming even for adults. We may grasp some of the overall meaning, but the more we hear the same story the easier it is to tune out the gravity of what we are witnessing.
Someone should do something to stop this madness: the Apostles, the high priest Annas, Caiaphas, Pilate, the crowd. I can still hear her little voice saying to me, “Mommy, take it out, take out nails.” Sure, someone but not me…
What if I imagined Jesus looking at me, addressing me by name, saying: “Jen, take them out. Take out my nails.”
Jen Coito