I pray for my brothers and
sisters out there in prayer--those who celebrate Passover, those
starting the Holy Triduum today, and a host of others who cannot
celebrate their holy days because of this virus, a human frailty, one
which we cannot escape. I share with you my feeling this morning of Holy
Thursday that Jesus' words to his friends "Stay here and keep watch
with me" mean something quite different now, and will never quite be the
same from this point forward.
I share this in light of the fact that in 2014, I miscarried during Good Friday, and that experience has never left me the same: the pain I felt as I kept watch was a sharing in suffering, but it was also my suffering. I felt the story I'd only until then celebrated cerebrally or spiritually--I'd felt it in my body. When all three elements of my existence came together, I saw in a whole new way what it means to suffer with, to feel compassion. In this situation we find ourselves in, the same might be true: we feel a compassion--we hope everyone does on some level--with those many who have died during this time around the world and here in the States. We feel a mourning of a loss of so many other things in our lives. We know it is a time that will eventually pass, and we grow weary of time, and impatient of its passing, and we fall asleep. But some remain in friendship, some keep watch, and in turn, we keep watch together. There may be many reasons for those who won't keep watch; some of those reasons are good ones, and some are selfish. Either way, forgiveness asked or given is part of the story. To ignore that part of the story would be a great oversight on our part, and so I practice it daily, with myself. Excruciating, isn't it--our frailty?
Our reality is still here, in this moment. We will find it hard to stay. To keep watch. Of each other and of ourselves, of the story we find familiar, of the friendship betrayed and forgiven. Of the death of many things. And of a rising away from this. Don't miss this, though--the story as it unfolds. Pray to remain steadfast, so that you and I can emerge from it to tell the story once more, in a new way, of how we remained together, in spite of a world hellbent to tear us apart. It's how the disciples must have felt watching their story unfold, unknowing of its conclusion and of how far that story would go to enter into our human weaknesses.
I share this in light of the fact that in 2014, I miscarried during Good Friday, and that experience has never left me the same: the pain I felt as I kept watch was a sharing in suffering, but it was also my suffering. I felt the story I'd only until then celebrated cerebrally or spiritually--I'd felt it in my body. When all three elements of my existence came together, I saw in a whole new way what it means to suffer with, to feel compassion. In this situation we find ourselves in, the same might be true: we feel a compassion--we hope everyone does on some level--with those many who have died during this time around the world and here in the States. We feel a mourning of a loss of so many other things in our lives. We know it is a time that will eventually pass, and we grow weary of time, and impatient of its passing, and we fall asleep. But some remain in friendship, some keep watch, and in turn, we keep watch together. There may be many reasons for those who won't keep watch; some of those reasons are good ones, and some are selfish. Either way, forgiveness asked or given is part of the story. To ignore that part of the story would be a great oversight on our part, and so I practice it daily, with myself. Excruciating, isn't it--our frailty?
Our reality is still here, in this moment. We will find it hard to stay. To keep watch. Of each other and of ourselves, of the story we find familiar, of the friendship betrayed and forgiven. Of the death of many things. And of a rising away from this. Don't miss this, though--the story as it unfolds. Pray to remain steadfast, so that you and I can emerge from it to tell the story once more, in a new way, of how we remained together, in spite of a world hellbent to tear us apart. It's how the disciples must have felt watching their story unfold, unknowing of its conclusion and of how far that story would go to enter into our human weaknesses.