I was loading groceries in my car yesterday when a family got out of their truck, clothed in masks and gloves and started making their way toward the store. They had forgotten something and the man returned to the truck to get it and discovered his keys were locked in there. He came undone. He berated himself telling his wife that this was the fourth time he had done this in a month and asking over and over "What is wrong with me? I am so stupid." At one point, he grabbed a tool from the back of his truck and headed for the window while his wife held him back saying, "No, no, it will cost more to fix that than to call the locksmith." He lamented, nearly collapsing at times and moaning about the $180 he had already spent to get into his truck. I tried to console him, telling him it was a trying time and he needed not to be so hard himself. I tried to give him some cash, but he wouldn't take it, insisting that this was entirely his problem. I finally left, breathing a prayer for this poor man, his wife, his son, obviously in a difficult place.This Lent has been so very real as I have watched up close and from a far the various sufferings of people around me. A few, far away, have actually had the virus, and we have prayed for healing. But nearly everyone has the Fear, the questions of when it will end, what they will lose, what life will look like when it is over? Will it be over? I've felt that suffering in my anxiety-prone body, which serves as my early warning system that not all is well with my soul.
I've learned to fast from media, which feeds the fear and frenzy. I'm usually stalwart in the morning but by evening I need to keep away from information and statistics and numbers of deaths. I've embraced my lack of omniscience and control, and chosen to focus on stories of hope and help.
My family gathers to pray every morning and I continue throughout the day, remembering friends and family on the front lines of combat serving in hospitals, working in mental health, and the clergy, that are working more hours while I work less.
Yesterday we did not wave our palms; we fashioned them into crosses immediately. We could feel the long journey to the Cross coming quickly.
Monday of Holy Week has always felt like a long pause to me. The triumphal entry is over and the Cross looms, but for a little while, there is just routine and quiet. What did He do on Monday? What do I do on Monday? Work, pray, love the people around me, and prepare.
1 comment:
Love this, Rachelle. I was just wondering myself what Jesus was doing between his triumphal entry into Jerusalem and his crucifixion. And what did that feel like for him, knowing his excruciating death was imminent. I guess we won't really know until we get there. But your prescription for what we should do this week in perfect.
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