There are those who speak now as if they were there, as if they know beyond doubt’s shadow. My question for them is ‘Were you there when he was abandoned? Were you?’ I was and I heard his cry of divine bewilderment: ‘My God, how could you have done this to me? I cannot be allowed to die so young and so close to the top!’ He was courage struggling for oxygen.
Then he was finished.
Afterwards, it was strange, for most of the visible disciples scattered while the secret ones walked into view. Moments like that remind you of the folly of judging a follower’s heart. Joseph, Nicodemus, and those fierce women performed the necessary, valiant compassion. Later, I found myself walking, searching the heaven and earth of my mind, trying in some way to restore the arch to the sky, desperately measuring the grains of time in hopes to transform catastrophe into tragedy. But death’s pall was too thick, it was too soon. I had followed him into the smoke and fire, and I was left ashen, muttering my own dereliction: ‘My God, how could you have done this to me? What on earth were you thinking?’
You captured so well the despair John and the others must have felt. Saturday would have been a very difficult day for the disciples, probably the worst day of their lives.
What on earth were you thinking, God? The plan of salvation can’t be this messy, this ridden with humanity. It makes no sense to leave something so important in the hands of such broken, blind, and helpless creatures. I half think the planet is still wandering with John in the stunned aftermath, wondering how it all works together.
Muttering my own dereliction for having travelled over holy week… might not do that again (the travelling part, I mean.)
Your words here helped ground me. Thank you.
This brought tears to my eyes. How could we ever forget, any day of the week, what He did for us, continues to do for us, as we wander in our inattentive bliss. He is glorious and so worthy of our faithfulness.
Many years ago, I became Mary Magdelene on stage. We were telling the Easter story over the course of the Easter weekend, but my Mary, she told her part of the story on Saturday, full of disbelief and shock and anger and despair. Utter despair. How could he have died? He died? He couldn’t have. Not after all she had seen. Not after how much he loved. This was not how the story was supposed to go.
Bleak hopelessness.
Another actor finished the service on Sunday, depicting John’s hope, exultation, humility. I was left with Mary’s despair echoing in my soul, and it has shaped me. How dark a Saturday.
This makes my heart ache. I don’t feel that for Jesus’ gift enough. Thank you.
You captured so well the despair John and the others must have felt. Saturday would have been a very difficult day for the disciples, probably the worst day of their lives.
What on earth were you thinking, God? The plan of salvation can’t be this messy, this ridden with humanity. It makes no sense to leave something so important in the hands of such broken, blind, and helpless creatures. I half think the planet is still wandering with John in the stunned aftermath, wondering how it all works together.
Muttering my own dereliction for having travelled over holy week… might not do that again (the travelling part, I mean.)
Your words here helped ground me. Thank you.
Oh John. I can barely stand this ache. This lament tears through me. Like a veil being torn in two.
This brought tears to my eyes. How could we ever forget, any day of the week, what He did for us, continues to do for us, as we wander in our inattentive bliss. He is glorious and so worthy of our faithfulness.
Yes. This. I have never gotten over this.
Many years ago, I became Mary Magdelene on stage. We were telling the Easter story over the course of the Easter weekend, but my Mary, she told her part of the story on Saturday, full of disbelief and shock and anger and despair. Utter despair. How could he have died? He died? He couldn’t have. Not after all she had seen. Not after how much he loved. This was not how the story was supposed to go.
Bleak hopelessness.
Another actor finished the service on Sunday, depicting John’s hope, exultation, humility. I was left with Mary’s despair echoing in my soul, and it has shaped me. How dark a Saturday.