Never understood why they called it "Good" Friday. Seemed all pretty much a bad scene, especially for Jesus. It wasn't great for us either. Sitting, kneeling, standing, watching the Priest waving the canister of incense, and stopping under pictures of the mayhem. Checking off the stations. We were told we were responsible for these horrors. Yikes.
Images seared into my consciousness. Poor Jesus. He was treated so badly. We were told it was "good news," but it was hard to believe. I do remember wondering: if humans would treat a guy like Jesus so cruelly, what's in store for the rest of us?
This morning, spinning madly, spiraling away from those grade school days. The day doesn't mean what it used to mean. I rarely enter a church. I let all that shit go. All that remains is the theater of it all, the pomp and circumstance. And this pesky residue in my head. Can't erase that, and of course, it's all part of me, of who I am. Building blocks of a personality.
Now, I know, whatever was in store for Jesus, is pretty much in store for all of us. The luck of the draw: happy & relatively unscathed, or unhappy & totally destroyed. We kind of hang between the two fates, we get to experience both, a little more of one or the other determines the balance of a life. We are always left wondering, what's next?
