It’s Palm Sunday already. The choir sang Were you there? It was beautifully sung, not as beautiful as that day in the college chapel when there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, but it was still beautiful today. I will never forget that other experience twenty years ago now. Who can believe it is a twenty year old memory…. I’m not much more mature, just older. Not much wiser, just more experienced. I think my pilgrimages then were less complex and more rewarding. I long for rewarding. I feel inadequate in my journey, in my life. Yet, I know we are all wanted and loved by God. He is Love.
Was I there? Yes, I hailed Him as He entered Jerusalem and then I got caught up in the crowd, calling for blood – afraid of what others think. Then, I always think my place is at the scourging. I whip the Lord with my sins. I hurt Him, rip Him. I spit at Him when He is crowned. I am blaming. Angry. I can hardly think about what it looked like, sounded like next. Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree? Yes, but I can’t look, I look away. It is here I recognize myself- because I am dying inside listening – knowing what I have done. Yes, I am there.
Forgive me Lord.