Today’s Reflection

Father Dave: I struggle with this Friday we call Good. What would I have done if I had been present that day on the road to Calvary? Do I know for sure? So again, I relinquish today’s reflection to another.

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I remember that day. My name is Simon and I with my two sons, Alexander and Rufus have just arrived in Jerusalem. There was a large crowd coming up the hill following a man dragging a large cross; he looked more dead than alive. Cuts and bruises covered his body; someone had slammed a wreath of thorns on his head, and now they were forcing him to drag this burden. I just wanted to get away. I did not want my sons to see this spectacle. How could people be so cruel to treat a human life in such a callous and horrible manner?

Before I could move away one of the soldiers seized me. He forced me into carrying part of the cross, and my boys could only watch. I was from Cyrene and this brusque and harsh treatment was not new to me. I snuck a peek of this man, and through the blood and sweat there was a look about him. He glanced back and thanked me.

We continued up the hill, this stranger and I. Never had I witnessed such anger and hostility from a crowd of people. What could he have done to warrant such treatment? Then we came upon a group of women wailing in grief. What was happening here, a vicious mob, out for more blood, and a small group of women crying in agony over the treatment this man was receiving… Where are my boys? Are they okay?

We reached the top of this hill called Calvary, and finally we were able to set down the heavy cross. I looked at this man, and all I could say was, “I am sorry,” as I was shoved out of the way by the soldiers. Again he gave a look of gratitude amidst all this horror. I had to get away, but where were Rufus and Alexander?

“Dad, dad!” my boys were running to me, frightened, terrified of what they were witnessing. They thought I was going to be crucified; I had to get them away from this scene! They would not understand; I did not understand. Holding tight to them I pushed through the crowd; it was more silent now. I could hear the hammer blows, driving nails through His hands and feet. Don’t let the boys see it. Then all was quiet. I could hear an occasional taunt, but no response.

We made it to an opening in the crowd, and there stood a Roman centurion. My eyes caught his and he looked at me, not as a slave or a foreigner, but as a person. A cry went up behind us, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani,” and then all was silent. The Centurion, who had sworn allegiance to Caesar spoke: “Truly, He was the Son of God.” We left the hillside, just wanting to get away, no longer interested in the festival we had come to celebrate in Jerusalem.

That is my story of how I met Jesus the Nazorean, or as I have come to believe, The Christ. For we were there in Jerusalem, Alexander, Rufus and I the day the Holy Spirit came upon the crowd. We are even mentioned in one of the writings from that time. My boys are grown now. They, too, are different because of that day, but they continue to speak the Good News about that Friday that is called Good.

Today’s Reflection

Another Lenten companion writes today’s reflection:

My life was imperfect according to the law, and worse, shameful to the expectations of the fine people in this town of my ancestors. Let’s just say I had a checkered past. Most recognized me and my “unconventional ways.” Truth be told, I was scorned.

The good women in our town went to Jacob’s well for water in early morning or in the cool of evening. But it was my daily routine to gather water from the well at noon (mostly to avoid their pointed gossip about my life). It was blazing hot then, but it was the time I preferred.

A few weeks ago, I arrived at the well, and a man was there, a Jew, a problem. He was visibly tired, and me, a Samaritan woman now would have to bake in the sun waiting for him to leave before I could draw my water. Not what I had planned that day, testing my patience!

Believe it or not, this Jewish man asked me for water to drink. I thought, “What is wrong with him? Does he not know it is uncustomary for a Jew to speak with a Samaritan, much less a woman, and worse, a Samaritan woman of my reputation?” As if this were not crazy enough, he offered me some “living water, that when taken in, there would be no more thirst.”

When I asked for some of that water (Yet, he didn’t even have a bucket!), he told me to get my husband. “Ha!,” I said, “Stranger, I have no husband.” He exclaimed, “You are right, you have no husband.” And then he spoke plainly of my five husbands, my sins against the law, my regular indiscretions. It was then that I knew he must be a prophet, to know all this of me, yet a stranger. He began to speak of the hour in which God would seek His people. Shaking and sweating in the sun, I said, “I remember from the holy teachings that there is to be a Messiah coming, and that when He comes, He will tell us everything.” I nearly dropped my water jar when he said, “I who speak to you am He.”

Then a bunch of his friends arrived, staring at this unexpected, inappropriate gathering. So, I left my jar, hurried back to town, and explained to the townspeople what had happened. He KNEW me fully, told me of all I ever did in my failings, and still he offered me a fountain of living water for eternal life, a path to worship in Spirit and truth.

Stunned, the townsmen hurried out to meet Him and begged Him to stay awhile. For two days He was in Samaria, and through His spoken word many more came to believe in Him, that He is the Savior of the world.

You know, they arrested Him and crucified Him. Some say he rose from the dead. It seems possible to me because we had heard Him and came to see Him as the Messiah. I will always remember Him and proclaim Him, for He recognized me, a sinner, and yet saved me, the least among us, with the water of new life.