I finally fell asleep by praying. Perhaps prayer is not the correct word. I was reflecting. Reflecting the life and death of Jesus. Thinking about what He lived through the week before He died. Wondering how He did it. How He lived through everything that they put Him through that week.
I went on to wondering what it was like to be him. To grow up and live his life and what he was like. Thinking about my own children and wondering what it would of been like to be the mother to Jesus. Did he know from day one that he was someone special? Making him the perfect child? We know that he wasn't. When he was 12 (same age as Ben) he left his parents to go to the temple. His parents had no idea where he was and searched for him for several days before finding him. Imagine if Ben did that today. If he just left my side while we were out traveling and went to church. I'd call the police and a search would be made far and wide. When he was finally found I'd probably, after hugging him a long time, smack him upside the head for leaving and not telling me where he was going.
Was he a cheeky teen? Towing the line between right and wrong. Staying just this side of wrong, enough to make his mother proud? But crossing the line enough to drive her crazy mad? And when she did get mad did he give her his best smile and say, aww don't be mad mama, I'm sorry. I won't do THAT again, I promise. (THAT being the operative word.)
As an adult (as short as his adult years were) did he ever question his sanity? Can you imagine knowing the things he knew and doing the things he did. Healing people and bringing people back to life. Did he question am I for real? He was human after all with similar thoughts and feelings that we have today.
And back to the week before he died. He was torchered. He was made fun of. Spit on. Probably not fed or given anything to drink. He was offered up and given the chance to be set free but the people stood there in front of him and choose someone else who was a known criminal to be set free. As he stood there, did he plead over and over in his head: please choose me, please choose me I didn't do anything wrong. I don't want to die. He had to carry his own cross, knowing he would hang from it and die.
Can you for one moment put yourself in his shoes? The fear you would feel! The sadness and loneliness. He was a human. He was just like you or me, he didn't have super human strength. I think I would of wished myself dead long before I actually died.
To live through that week and then to be stripped down to nothing and nailed to a cross. To hang there beaten and bruised, starving and thirsty. To hang from nails, it's horrifying!
Being Catholic, Holy week is tough for me. I rarely go to the services during Holy week. I don't like them. It's hard for me to think about reliving the week Jesus had before he died. And the cruelty that he was put through. Maybe it's because I try to apply today's world to what he went through and how no one has to do that now. I think back then it was common practice to treat people that way. Where today we kill the most horrifying people by peacefully putting them to sleep. People who have done the most heinous things are put to death with a gentle injection. with respect. Though I don't belive they should be killed, it's not our right or place to take the life of another, but they also don't deserve the life that they live in prison (I think it's too good). But that's for a different blog.
I'm glad that Holy week is over. And I'll be glad when today is done. I love Holy Saturday and Easter. It's over cast and nasty looking outside. It has rained and stormed nearly every Good Friday that I can remember. I love it when it rains on Good Friday. It makes me feel better.
On a completely unrelated note, it's my Dad's birthday today. It's a lousy day to have birthday. He can't have meat or even really eat. Today is a day of fasting and abstinence. Even though today is not a good day to celebrate much of anything, I celebrate him and I am thankful for him. I love you Daddy, Happy Day!