Welcome to this meditation series for the season of Lent.
If you are unfamiliar with the liturgical season of Lent,
It is the 6 weeks or 40 days preceding Easter.
Reflecting the 40 days Jesus spent in the desert,
This time of fasting,
Prayer,
And giving prepares us for the miracle of the resurrection.
This series is based in the Christian story,
But know all are welcome who know the justice of this world is imperfect.
Today's reflection will be different.
Traditionally,
Palm Sunday liturgy includes both the triumphant entrance to Jerusalem and the Passion,
The trial and execution of Jesus.
These events are horrific and hypocritical and offer very little in the way of comfort.
So,
In this reflection,
We will not look away from suffering.
We will walk with Jesus to Calvary as we walk every day with those suffering in our world.
We will not look away or distract ourselves.
We will not look for ways to ease our conscience.
Today,
We will look for ways to unite our suffering to divine suffering,
To the suffering around the world.
Find a comfortable seat.
Take a deep breath and close your eyes.
Let us first ground in our body.
Take a few more deep,
Slow breaths.
Listen to the rhythm of your breath and find the rhythm of your heart.
This is the movement of your existence.
Here is the core of who you are in your body,
How you experience the world,
How the world experiences you.
Accept this breath and this heartbeat as the movement of you.
It is continuous and steady.
The same as it was for you ten years ago,
One hour ago,
Tomorrow,
Ten years from now.
Your breath and your heartbeat does not change,
Yet it sustains every change you have ever been through and will ever become.
Here you are.
Take a deep breath and imagine yourself back in your desert.
This is your last visit this Lent.
It is familiar and you are unafraid.
The first thing you notice,
Though,
Is the heat.
It is unpleasant.
It's hard to stay comfortable.
The sun is bright and reflects off the bare spots of the landscape.
You find yourself squinting to keep your bearing.
This visit is different.
You are not afraid,
But you are hot and thirsty.
You can hear something moving nearby.
It sounds like something heavy dragging on the ground.
You turn around,
Trying to see where the noise is coming from.
You cannot find it,
But the sound does not pass.
It's not loud,
But it does not get further away.
It stays close,
Bumping on rocks and debris as it is towed.
You decide to try to ignore this noise as you go.
You start walking,
But the noise stays with you.
Putting it out of your mind,
You try to enjoy your walk.
There is a dryness in your mouth and the ground feels hard under your feet.
You are unsure of the path,
But keep moving forward.
Surely you will find some purpose soon.
You look to the side and notice something dark on the ground.
You step a little closer and realize it is an animal,
Or the remains of an animal.
You can hardly tell if it was a bird or mammal or reptile.
There is so little of it left.
There is dried blood all around,
And you can see where the scraps were dragged away.
This creature met a brutal end.
You try and take comfort in the fact that it fed several other animals that must kill to survive.
It was not killed for money or power or fear-mongering or efficiency.
This is barely comforting,
But it is something.
Nature kills with purpose.
You continue your walk,
But you cannot get the thoughts of senseless death out of your mind.
Humans take or ruin life for stupid reasons.
You let the images of suffering that sit in your mind come to your consciousness.
They may be photos or art.
You may have seen them last week or 20 years ago,
But you have never been able to shake them.
You stop moving and sit down,
Allowing these images to really speak.
They were created so we would be unable to look away.
The artist wanted the cries to reach you,
Wherever and whenever you are.
Allow them.
Allow the headlines that haunt you to sit behind your eyes.
Take a deep breath and quiet yourself if you can.
Sift through the words and images until you find one that captures you.
It breaks your heart,
And you let it.
You sit here,
Heartbroken,
And try to understand how others have suffered.
You remember the weights you carry and the beatings your heart has taken.
Sleepless nights,
Pain,
Fear,
Grief,
Loneliness,
The dull ache of rearranging your dreams for the future,
Or the constant anxiety of not having enough.
You let these feelings and thoughts wash over you like waves.
Take a deep breath and remind yourself you can still breathe.
Think of the suffering of others and know that even though it takes different forms and different intensities,
Suffering is part of being human.
It is something we all share.
You remember the invisible heavy object dragging beside you.
The noise breaks through your reverie.
You look around again,
And this time you see something.
You have to squint against the bright sun to make it out.
It's a man,
Carrying a long beam and crosspiece over his shoulder.
He stops a moment and looks at you.
You can see the sweat,
Dirt,
And blood streaking his face.
You look in his eyes and you see it.
His suffering is like yours.
You can see he knows he is walking to his death.
You blink slowly,
And when you next look in his eyes it is like looking into a well and seeing stars.
This is no mere man.
He carries divinity in his countenance.
You blink again and the stars are gone.
Only the weary man remains.
But you know the divine suffers too.
You wish you could fast forward to the end of the story where the man resurrects and you and everyone you know can live in perfect joy and peace.
You take a deep breath and allow yourself to yearn for it.
You let a vision of a resurrected world dance before your eyes.
This is what you,
All of you,
Yourself,
Others,
And God are striving for.
The work of resurrection is all of ours.
You take another deep breath and give yourself the gift of a long exhale.
Lay back and try to relax your muscles.
Your face,
Neck,
And shoulders.
Your arms,
Chest,
And back.
Your stomach,
Hips,
And glutes.
Your legs and your feet relax.
This is too heavy to carry constantly.
You rest while you can.
The work of resurrection is all of ours.
