…and I fail to feel it yet. I hope it happens soon…maybe on Palm Sunday, but especially by Maundy Thursday. We had a traditional backs-to-the-people Rite I Eucharist last night, with our usual healing service…and the addition of Stations of the Cross, as presented by the film The Passion of The Christ. Heady, horrible, gut-wrenching stuff. My dear Dawn was reduced to tears by the Stations. “All mothers should…”, she opined on the drive home. I reminded her that we are an Easter People, but that wasn’t much consolation. I think she’s on to something, though, because you can’t have a resurrection without a death, you can’t have a death without a life lived, and you can’t have a life lived without a lowly birth in a manger cave.
Holy Week will hit me at some point. It always does, it’s just a mater of God’s time. The passion and death of Christ will make sense again, hopefully sooner than later. I ought not fear it, and I will get through it, but deep down I always think, “Look to the resurrection! We are all about Easter!”