30 Hour Fast - Not too well

Jesus is very close now to Jerusalem. The crowds are going to be singing and waving palm branches; but I wonder if the crowds are not just like the disciples who have been repeatedly told and not understood that Jesus is a different kind of king than they are expecting and who do not understand that Jesus is really going to die.

I find myself relating this coming week to experiences in my own life. The joy of the births of my children, the anticipation and expectation that their lives will be full, faithfilled, joyous, healthy, happy and blessed with many years. That is Palm Sunday. The anticipation and expectation!

But looming around the corner of this high moment in life is the prickling sensation that not all is right. The sensation does not immediately show itself. Jesus will spend the entire week in the city of Jerusalem, the symbol of his bride. Come Maundy Thursday, that prickling sensation is going to become full-blown, the diagnosis of a disease if you will that has little hope of cure. Just as for my Jennifer, the prickling sensation that something is wrong and for her, not one week but six years of battle to come. Just as for my Jessica, the prickling sensation that the accident I view from a mile away must be really bad, to the realization six hours later that this involves my girl.

Even though the diagnosis has been given, we are going to pull up our reserves, pull out the stops on hope, and persevere. The disciples are going to react, initially fighting the guards and then disappearing. I imagine in their disappearance they are talking among themselves, trying to figure out what can be done, and praying that God will make this right. For Jennifer and our family that meant six grueling years of chemotherapy, hospital stays, lengthy ICU stays, that meant for my son and other daughter more years spent in upheaval than years of normalcy. With Jessica it meant our standing at her bedside and saying our goodbyes without her ever having woken up.

Good Friday is going to bring us to the reality that the disease is going to take life. And Holy Saturday is a day to be spent in numbness, tears, shock, anger; one need only name an emotion for it to have been felt.