Good Friday 2016

Today marks the darkest day in human history. There are really no words to write about the Passion of Christ. But I will try and attempt a feeble  story of how maybe I would've reacted had I been there. Here's how I would put myself in the story.....

During His last supper with His disciples Jesus  tried to explain to them during the Passover meal that things had changed from traditional Passover. Last night one of our new priests explained it so well, that it was two very distinct acts. It was  the last Passover and the first Holy Communion. But, the disciples couldn't understand that during that time.  Nor would I have been able to. I was thinking about the disciples and what if I had been one  and what it would have been like had I been there. Funny,  I  already know  what my reaction would've been. Because it's a reaction I choose all too often. Had I grasped what Jesus was trying to say, I would've done my usual: Put my head in the sand. ...Yes, me, ever "joyfuljan", my "cockeyed optimist self", that would've rationalized to the others and probably would even say: "it doesn't mean what He makes it sound like. He's just leaving us for awhile. He needs to re-charge His batteries". Yep, I would've been doing that very thing and trying to convince that idea to my friends at the table.....UNTIL.

Until He got up and put a dish towel across His lap and went and got a basin of water.

I would've flipped out at that. I can imagine my response now. Like Peter, I would've screamed, "NO WAY! No! Let me do it for You!" I probably would've bumped the basin and water would've splashed.All over Jesus/me and the floor.  I can imagine that He would look at me with THE most love and tender expression in His eyes . And I can imagine He would brush the hair from my face and make me look at Him.

MAKE ME get my head from out of the sand. Not forcibly. No, He wouldn't have made me in a forceful way. But, His eyes would've spoken "Look at ME". And  maybe, even possibly would say, "Sweet sister, I must wash YOUR feet." And, against everything in me, the turmoil/ the embarrassment/ the "I- don't -want -You -to -do- this- because -I -should -be- doing- it -for -You" face I would be presenting , STILL I would've sat down, fumbled with my sandals and  would still be trying to tuck my curled toes under the seat. My last attempt at refusal. But, looking into His loving eyes, I would finally let Him gently pull my dirt encrusted feet towards Him. Dirt so dark and deep it went deep under the toenails. Deep dark sins that I would try to hide represented by my feet. 

I can imagine I would see His head, bent down as He pulled my curled, dirty, filthy feet towards His pure and holy hands. I would see Him as He did his bidding.  His hair, thick and black , probably a bit damp from the tight space in the Upper Room and also a bit damp from His own sweat. His own fear at what would come. But, we wouldn't have known that then. I can imagine as My Lord washed my feet how suddenly , in an instant, I felt clean. Not just "foot clean" but clean inside. Free. Head fully out of the sand. Ready to accept whatever was coming because I would have the courage to. Letting go of my reluctance to look at issues with fear and accepting situations as they were. I can imagine, while I would've hated for Him to continue washing my feet, that I never wanted Him to stop.  Hours later would have a crown of thorns pushed down on that beautiful head. 

I wouldn't/couldn't imagine that then.If so, I would've tried to hide Him/ send Him away so that He wouldn't have to face what was coming. Instead, that night, I would've just given final acceptance to an act of servanthood that I didn't understand. But, after leaving the Upper Room that night I'm sure I would be going over and over in my mind why my Lord become a servant , one who even washed dirty feet, for ME?

Then, on Friday. Friday  at the cross the whole"servant thing" would loom in front of me. I bet I would've stood at the cross in agony, sobbing.

But one thing for certain. My head would have NOT been under the sand. Because of the night before. Because I was given new courage to be able to witness, NOT accept, but witness my Lord giving up His life.  I wouldn't know it then, because Sunday would explain everything, but on Friday night I would've been crushed. Crushed but courageous.  Because I would've seen that Man on the cross, the One who had the night before washed my filthy feet, give up His life. And I think, I HOPE, I would've had an inkling that He did so for me. And for my friends. And for all who followed Him. But, for that day, that Friday that dark, horrible Friday, I know what I would've done. I would've laid at the foot of the cross. And wept. and wept. and wept.
But  one thing would've been for certain. My head would've been fully "out of the sand". I would've had the courage to go on despite witnessing the worst act that was ever executed. I would have new courage. And even ,possibly, a spark of hope for something miraculous to come from my encounter with Jesus. If I had been there, as I would start to leave,  I probably would've walked down that lonely hill, alone in my thoughts. But, I know me.  I would've even looked back one last time. One last time to see His face. Only by accepting the inevitable, the death of My Lord, would I have the courage to do so.
( and if only I had known what was to come.......)


#crying4Him #suchlove #whatgreaterloveisthis #GoodFriday #badFriday #savingFriday