It's busy this Holy Week.
I often think of Palm Sunday as a lesson in how we are all so fickle and disloyal. We love Jesus one minute and the next minute, we are all "Bye Felecia" and "I don't know you." When I was a kid, I took this as a reminder to check myself when I was choosing "cool" over Christ. Now that I am older, I see how this story is more about forgiveness than about fickleness. It is about Christ's loyalty to us, even when we are behaving in an opposing manner.
I also see this story as an example of how Christ comes to us. Throughout the New Testament, Christ is constantly coming to people. He cleanses lepers and heals the paralyzed. He raises the dead. He feeds the five thousand. He restores sight to the blind. He calls his disciplines and he come to them in the upper room--bringing them the Last Supper and a way to remember Him when he is gone.
These stories are big and dramatic. My own story of Jesus coming to me is big and traumatic.
When my brother was in a medically induced coma after choking, my husband's aunt called me. I sat on the floor of the hospital by the elevator bank, defeated and listening to Lydia pray. She kept going. I began praying for the prayer to end, so I could get back to reading my brother's chart. And then suddenly, when I thought I could not take one more minute of prayer, I had a very clear voice and thought telling me that another sister was praying somewhere for her brother to be healed. I told Mike's aunt we were done praying, said amen and went off to find Gift of Life.
And friends, before you think logic brought me to this place, let me tell you that there is nothing logically about discussing the harvesting of your brother's organs.
I knew my brother wasn't going to live; but Jesus came to me and opened the door to another path filled with light. It was not what I wanted; but I couldn't have what I wanted. However, it was what I needed. And Jesus gave me the strength and courage to have really hard talks about organ donation and end of life. Jesus was there holding me up when the end came. He performed a miracle in our lives when David died-- someone's brother got a second chance at life because of my brother.
I told you: big and traumatic.
But, I don't have regular everyday stories of Jesus coming to me. I think he does come to me; but I simply forget? Or don't notice? I once read that we are less likely to remember a day unless something of significance happened on that day. Do I forget the white bread days with Jesus in it because it is all sort of mundane? Or is Jesus only in the big moments?
I know the answer to the second is no, Jesus is not only in the big moments. Jesus told us in the very last line of Matthew "I am with our always, to the end of the age."
I'd like to notice Jesus more in my regular days. And maybe Holy Week is a good time to try, as Christians all follow the story from parade to cross to grave to heaven. It's a dramatic week to be sure; but our own weeks will hopefully be quiet as we prepare for trips and Easter baskets and Spring breaks. Where is Christ when I am packing my suitcase? Where is He when I am dying Easter eggs?
I don't have to look far--I know--but I have to look.