There are many assorted roles to play in Jesus' final hours. The Gospel reading had been arranged in such a different way that several persons around the congregation took up the persona of the different characters, and the Gospel reading today retold the Passion of our Lord - His anguish, His betrayal, His last words to the disciples, His trial, His crucifixion, His death. The lector narrated. Someone a few rows forward read Judas's betrayal and anguish. Someone far away on the other side of the sanctuary took up Peter's defiant words of loyalty. Father Bernard spoke Jesus' words.
We listened as observers. We turned the page, and I noticed bold text further down the page. Momentarily losing attention in the reading, I glanced over at the bold text, which indicated what we would read, the responsive reading, our part in the unfolding story. The realisation, each and every word, horrified and broke me. . . .'Prophesy! Which one of us hit you?' 'Give us Barabbas!' 'Crucify him! Crucify him!' 'May his blood be upon us and our children!' 'Hail, King of the Jews!' 'He saved others but cannot save Himself. Let Him come down from the cross so we may believe in him.' Each careless utterance, each reckless insult piled onto the last. The first words out of our mouths were the damning testimony of the witnesses. Our words were the words of the angry crowds. We ourselves were the sinners who crucified our Lord.
The last entry was fairly forced; at least for the moment (considering what is all around and just ahead), besides being out of time, I've really lost quite a bit of interest at all in writing arguments. It's not that I think the arguments are absolutely useless or anything like that. It's simply that, at this point, I'm overjoyed, overwhelmed, and generally rendered overly speechless at what is whirling around me.
Kudos to Betsy (via Liz) and Jeff . . .
'From the time I became a Catholic, of course I have no further history of my religious opinions to narrate. In saying this, I do not mean to say that my mind has been idle, or that I have given up thinking on theological subjects; but that I have had no variations to record, and have no anxiety of heart whatever . . . It was like coming into port after a rough sea; and my happiness on that score remains to this day without interruption.'
-Venerable John Henry Cardinal Newman, Apologia pro vita sua
'Our entry into the Church is settled, which gives me, not so much exhilaration as a deep peace; to quote my own words: A sense of homecoming, of picking up the threads of a lost life, of responding to a bell that had long been ringing, of taking a place at a table that had long been vacant.'
-Malcolm Muggerridge
-Rick
-Malcolm Muggerridge
-Rick
