In the story my mom comes and wakes me up and runs me to the window. Outside the snow is still coming down and there is a light covering of snow on the ground, trees, garage roof, sidewalk, etc... Apparently I stared at it for a while, mesmerized. I then turned to my mom and asked, "Is it for me?"
"Abba, abba, I put my life in your hands." We sang this the other day, a twin statement of Christ's and, imperfectly, ours. Our anxiety at this release is understandable; even Christ himself desired his Father's will so little that he asked for change. But we know the rest of the story.
A practice version, warts and all, of the song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjICVdWX-6g&feature=youtube_gdata
As part of that story I love the almost collegial interchange between Christ and Pilate. Pilate was no idiot. I feel for the guy. He is in an absolutely no win situation. He's not a Jew, so, other than due process and his own conscience, he doesn't really care. Yet the political implications are huge. The Jewish crowd even used his political position to coerce him into acting their way. And I love how Jesus explains to Pilate that given all the events, including scriptural prophecy, Pilate is locked in and Christ even goes so far as to tell him that his sin is less than Judas'. Again, maning-up.
But Christ is killed. We wait, this second day, knowing the promise of tomorrow, but emotion-dulled by the telling for the 1983rd time. What would it be like instead to see for the first time, to be surprised for the first time, to not understand for the first time?
There are times I wish I were still three and standing with my mom by the window. I know I wish for that guilelessness. Would that I could wake tomorrow and hear what happened, and ask, "Is it for me?"
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