Clueless

"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." - Luke23:34

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the forty day period of Lent. During this season we pause to take a good, hard look at the devastating effects of sin on the world and in our own lives. We tune our hearts to the suffering Jesus endured for our sake, and we spend time in both reflection and repentance as we march forward to that first Good Friday and blessed Easter morning.

I know it's popular among Christian circles to give something up for Lent. I have done that myself in years past, but this year I want to do something different. I'd like to spend some time thinking about the words Jesus spoke from the cross as He was suffering and dying. These are just my thoughts, nothing theologically attested to or deep... just me acknowledging my part... my hammer blows.

I wonder about the crowd that day, standing around... watching... waiting. Did Jesus recognize faces in the crowd? Could He single out, even through eyes clouded with a mixture of sweat and blood, individuals who -days earlier- had hailed him as their king, waving palm branches as He passed?

Did He see my face too?

One of my all-time favorite Good Friday hymns is "Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?" Of course, I was. I imagine Jesus saw my sin, though it be committed two thousand years in the future. He died for those sins that day also... and yours as well.

Confessing love and allegiance on Sunday, the crowds quickly turned, and were shouting, "Crucify Him!" by Friday. It's hard to imagine perhaps, but then... I have to do that hard introspective looking I was talking about earlier. How many times have "I" driven out of the church parking lot on Sunday morning only to leave my allegiance and good intentions behind?! It doesn't happen all at once. No. It's a gradual shift. A harsh word here. An unkind thought there. Doubt. Frustration. Anger. It adds up and takes a toll on my Jesus following... and I'm spotted in the crowd.

Clueless. I wish I could claim that, but I can't. I full-well know better. I understand what Christ-following should look like, and I also know that many times I fail miserably at it. It's more than quoting chapter and verse. It's more than studying the catechism or the great theologians. It's such a simple message to be so hard to implement... "Follow me." Oh, Lord, how I long to do that and do it well. Sometimes there's a glitch, a translational error, in moving that message from my head to my heart, but you already know that, don't you?

You see my face.

But you also see my tears. Here at the foot of the cross I stand, head bowed, ashes heaped upon me... and you speak those words I so desperately long to hear.

"Father, forgive her."

And I am...

forgiven.