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‘Take nothing with you,’ Jesus once said. Today the dead Jesus lies in a grave not his own. And today we wait to see if he was right to live so dispossessed.
Here’s a heretical opinion: it didn’t need to be the cross. Jesus could have died in his sleep, and it would have meant as much. The redemptive thing is that God showed up.
The little red number on the email icon tells me just how many things people ask me to do. Look at your icons. What reminds you to follow Jesus in your tasks for today?
What makes this week holy is not our pretensions to innocence. What makes this week holy is the invitation to confess our betrayals and be forgiven.
Sometimes what makes us whole are the same old things our grandmothers recommended, the remedies our ancestors believed in, the ancient ordinary things.
But despite the apprehensions many of us have around the very thought of blood, blood is life, and blood adequately reflects the gravity and severity of God’s love for us.
Someone wise said that walking is just controlled falling. When we put one foot in front of the other, we control our falling every time we move. We make a decision to move on.
The gifts of sabbath are radically subversive and exceedingly compassionate. In a society that values constant achievement and over-functioning, sabbath keeps us intact.
Maybe it was a miracle. Maybe it was magic. Or maybe it was this: maybe Moses just forced them to truly examine at what they were dealing with: not vampires, but snakes.
I wonder if Jesus prayed the psalms in the days before going to Jerusalem. I wonder if it gave him comfort that he could be that honest with God about his terror and grief.