(You can listen to this post here.)
This Holy Week Water Daily has looked at the gospel for each day, reflecting from the perspective of someone on the fringes of the story. We too are on the fringes of this story – and we are invited to come into its heart this weekend.
The Other Mary: That’s what I’m called in these accounts of Jesus’ death – “The Other Mary.” Like these gospel writers couldn’t bother to get my full name or where I’m from. I’m not Mary, Jesus’ mother; nor Mary of Bethany or Mary of Magdala. I am Mary, mother of James. And I was there.
I watched them murder him. I watched his mother’s agony, watching him in agony. I heard the scoffers and the mockers. I saw them take his body down; I helped wrap him in a clean cloth and went along to the tomb that Joseph so generously offered for our use. There was no time to prepare his body – the sabbath was about to begin, and this is the Passover sabbath. We had to put his body somewhere safe until this sabbath is over. We will be there at dawn on Sunday with our spices and ointments to anoint him for a proper burial.
But now we must wait. Doing nothing. This is the worst sabbath I have ever endured. I love my sabbaths – the God-commanded day of rest when I can put down my cooking and cleaning and mending and tending. My only chores are feeding my family and our animals; the rest of the time I can nap, or read, or walk slowly enough to notice the new growth on the fields and trees, appreciate the birds and creatures around me. God’s greatest gift, this sabbath day each week.
But not this week. To bear this weight of pain and loss, with no tasks to distract us? To have nothing to do BUT think and talk and remember how our Lord we loved so much, who gave us so much, was tortured to death for no reason but to protect the pride and arrogance of insecure men? To have nothing to hold back the waves of feelings that threaten to drown us – terror, rage, confusion, and sorrow, sorrow so deep I don’t think we’ll ever get to the end of it. What have they done? How will we live?
So I will sit, and feel what I don’t want to feel. I will rest, like God rested on the seventh day. Was he gathering up his energy to create even more new life?
What would new life even look like, now?
To
receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here.
(You can listen to this post here.)
This Holy Week Water Daily will look at the gospel for each day and reflect from the perspective of one the people on the fringes of the story. We too are on the fringes of this story – and we are invited to come into its heart this week. May these holy men and women draw us closer.
Mary of Nazareth: They keep offering to take me away, the two Marys. They keep trying to get me away from here, from watching him… But I don’t want to go. There’s some need in me to finish this. He said a moment ago… “It is finished.” Or at least, that’s what they said he said. I couldn’t hear him, his voice was so faint…
But still I can’t leave. Not just yet. I never forgot that there would be an end like this. I always knew this gift had strings attached – from the beginning, what that old man in the temple said, “And a sword will pierce your heart also.” And the whole way Jesus… just suddenly… was there, in my womb. And his birth, those rough shepherds running to find us, telling us about choirs of angels on the hills… I always knew this was no ordinary child. He was never mine to keep.
But this… this was not a day I ever thought of, to see my own first son, the flesh of my flesh, there…naked, pinned…. In agony. And yet I don’t want to leave.
A little while ago he spoke again. Oh God, he barely had the strength to lift his voice. He was looking at me. He wanted his mother, and there was nothing I could do for him! But they took me by the arms, Joanna and Mary, and led me closer. I could have touched him, could have reached up and touched his feet, those feet that once could fit into my hand, those toes I used to tickle, and he would laugh and laugh like an angel…
But there they were, and a spike… I could have touched him, but I was afraid. Of what? The soldiers? What on earth could they do to me now? But still, I didn’t reach out.
He looked at John, his faithful friend. He looked at me. “Dear woman, behold your son,” he said. “No, you are my son!” I wanted to cry out. “Take him down!” Then he said to John, “Here is your mother.” I thought my heart would stop. Such pain, to be given away, even for my own care… Like the time he wouldn’t see us, his brothers and me, when we tried to visit him. He said those who followed him, his disciples, these were his mothers and his brothers now. And I tried to understand… He was never mine to keep.
A soldier spoke a moment ago, a Roman. He said, “I am sure this man was the Son of God.” That’s what that angel said, so long ago, the words are seared into my memory: “The Holy One to be born will be called the Son of God.” So how did this Roman know? Did God tell him too? Maybe it is all true! I believed once and said yes; can I believe again? Maybe God hasn’t finished? Maybe the story isn’t over…
Ah, now John wants to usher me away, already taking up his duties. I am staying till they take him down. They have promised to take care of the body, these women, his friends, my friends, these Marys. And some important men – Joseph, who gave us the tomb; Nicodemus, another one of the Sanhedrin. They brought the ointments and cloths – 75 pounds of myrrh and aloes, Mary said.
I will help. I will anoint my son’s body with oil and touch his bruised skin one more time, look at his face, now just an empty space, before they put him away in that tomb in the garden. Then I will go home.
What has been your greatest loss? Have you let God into that heartache? Let God fill that space with something that brings life? We can't rush it - but in time, our greatest pain will be overshadowed by the Life of God that cannot be quenched, even in death... Wait for it. Wait with Mary.
To
receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here.
(You can listen to this post here.)
This Holy Week Water Daily will look at the gospel for each day and reflect from the perspective of one the people on the fringes of the story. We too are on the fringes of this story – and we are invited to come into its heart this week. May these holy men and women draw us closer.
Andrew of Capernaum: My brother! Jesus sure nailed it with the nickname he gave him, Petros. The rock. Never met anyone so hard-headed. And lovable, ornery, faithful, cowardly – all rolled into one ball of leap-before-you-look, speak-before-you-think energy. He’s been like that since we were kids – got me into trouble more times than I care to remember, and usually all I was doing was watching.
So tonight, when Jesus got up from the table, tied a towel around himself and began to wash our feet, and we’re all looking at each other, mortified – it’s Peter who put into words what a lot of us were thinking. “Lord, you’re gonna wash my feet? Think again!” Jesus just looked at him with that mixture of irritation and love he so often had for Peter, and said, “If you don’t let me wash you, you have no part with me.” But Peter doesn’t let it rest – he has to argue. Argue with our Master! On this night of all nights. “Okay, wash all of me, then! Why stop with my feet?”
Jesus had an answer for him, of course. He always did. It was part of the game – Peter pushing as hard as he could, Jesus coming right back at him. Oh, how they loved each other. Love each other.
It was hard for Peter to submit to being cared for. Hard for all of us. When Jesus got to me, I didn’t want him to touch my feet. They’re not pretty. And they were filthy, as feet are in our time and place. But he focused on that task like it was the only thing in the world he had to do. He got them clean, he rinsed and dried them, and I just had to sit there and receive that gift. I think that was the hardest of all the things Jesus has asked us to do in the three years since I met him along the banks of the Jordan.
Just sit and receive his gift. Helpless.
Little did I know that that’s all I would be doing for the next 24 hours – watching him give his life away for me, powerless to help him, nothing left for me but to receive his gift. And if I have trouble being this still and helpless, what on earth must my poor brother be going through?
How are you at receiving care from others?
How are you at receiving the gifts God wants to give to you? It’s harder for most people to submit to having someone else wash their feet than it is to wash another’s (unless we’re paying for a pedicure…). Yet arguably our most important spiritual task is learning to take in the love and grace and power of God so we can share it freely with others.
Tonight, I hope you’re going to church (our service is at 6:30, if you’re in southern Maryland…). I hope you’ll have a chance to receive the ministry of footwashing, and to offer it. In that order. Don’t miss this opportunity to grow in grace.
To
receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here.
