DARKNESS

God on trial.

The maker of stars and dolphins, mountains and beach waves, sunsets and auroras, brown eyes and laughter... GOD... on trial.

Prosecutor Pilate put Jesus in the hot seat and found him without fault, declared him INNOCENT, had him slapped around a bit to satiate the hungering crowd, yet the mob ROARED. Chump Pilate washed his hands to clean soul stains he could never cleanse himself. Scoundrel Barabbas was released from his condemnation so ALL OF US scoundrels could ultimately be released from ours.

Cat o' Nine Tails whipped metal barbs and ripped flesh in chunks from strong carpenter's frame, thorny crown pressed deep, body shocked. People shamed, spit, scourned, turned away. Most don't make it to the beam. Most die in the "chambers" of Roman-handed-hell. But Jesus made it to the beam he couldn't carry up to the hill on his own, because carrying US and that beam at the same time was too much, so…

HE. CARRIED. US.

Iron spiked his arms across cypress, and “King of the Jews” scratched out in olive wood hung above his battered flesh. Sour drink. Staggered breaths. Surrendered spirit. It was finished.

FINISHED.

The temple curtain that hung heavy and thick was rent in two. Graves opened. Earth quaked. Sky was pitch as night. Darkness. This is what happens when you kill God.

DARKNESS.

Palm Sunday From a Hospital Room

A week ago Saturday we were riding the zoo train with our four-year-old grandson and soaking up the sunshine alongside the giraffes and llamas. Two short days later my husband was battling the most severe pain I have ever seen anyone experience in my life due to complications from diverticulitis. From our bedroom floor... to the ER... to an extended stay in the hospital, I am quickly reminded that sometimes life happens in unexpected whirlwinds. It's a hijacking of sorts. Freak accidents, ambulance rides, roses draped across caskets, the shocking diagnosis, chronic illness, horrific phone call, or jarring discovery, and suddenly, you are in the territory of life-disrupted. No matter what you wish or will, it won't give. Everything is now dictated by the disruption and you obey, because you have to. 

I keep looking at the wipe-off board in the hospital room to remember the date. Days melt into each other in hospital rooms. The day of the week isn't written on this particular board, so I have had to mentally track to figure out the day of the week. Today is Sunday. Yes. It's Sunday, Palm Sunday to be exact. I'm trying to be mindful of Holy Week and the significance of the worship and Hosannas over two-thousand years ago. "Jesus, save us." Save us from this old broken world and these broken bodies and broken people. Save us from the heart-hurts and betrayals, rejections and not-enoughs. Save us... from... ourselves. When life catapults us into life-disrupted, have mercy and please... save us. If that saving only looks like Presence, help it to be enough. 

A dear friend texted me a photo she took on their way home from church. There were two simple crosses made out of folded palm fronds. All I could think of were those branches laid down like a royal carpet and waved to hail the King while a simple donkey carried him into the last city he would ever visit before he surrendered to his own murder. Those two little palm leaf crosses remind me of all of those hosannas shouting and crying out for salvation, the kind of salvation we don't even truly know we need. Jesus knew and from his soul he cried looking over the city, "Oh Jerusalem." Oh me. Oh you. Hosannah! Save us... even in this hospital room.

Always grace,

Shanda