On Good Friday, the RC Kids hold vigil.
When I was in grade 1 or 2, one of the older classes put the Stations of the Cross pictures that they’d drawn up in the hallway. Until I saw those pictures, I always saw JC as a smiling, flower- enrobed hippy. But suddenly, I saw what terrible things happened to Him. My 7(ish) year-old brain couldn’t process it and I burst into tears of fear and sadness – right there in the hallway of St. Martin of Tours. And rightly so – the torture and murder of anyone *should* be terrifying. I’ve carried that upset with me, and I go into discomfort avoidance on Good Friday. I don’t do the stations of the cross. I don’t attend Good Friday services. It’s the same reason I’ve never seen the Passion of the Christ. I can’t do it. I can’t watch a movie about a man getting beaten to death. Frankly, I’m likely to have the same reaction that I did way back in grade school.
Then, add to that the extra layer of watching the Passion with adult eyes; with a mother’s eyes. When JC’s friends should have stood up to defend Him, none did. But, His friends were there, in the crowd. After a day of being tortured and mocked and humiliated, he was finally nailed to the cross and raised above the crowd. He saw His mother. A parent should never have to bury a child, nevermind watch the horrible events that brought the BVM to the foot of the cross. As He was dying, the most human of emotions – His thoughts went to those who He was leaving behind. He called to his friends, “Please take care of my mom”. During Lent, may I care so deeply for my own family and friends. This makes the whole passion story extra heartbreaking for me.
During Lent, may the mistreatment of any of God’s creatures always inspire as much hurt and outrage as it did when I was a child. This Lent, may I do everything I can to inspire others to take care of each other, regardless of where their roots first grew.