Washed Up and Exposed

“It’s the cancer that has freed him to dig up and expose the lie.”

― Russell Banks, "Foregone"

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Dear Kate,

Today, Maundy Thursday, Jesus washes our feet; tomorrow, Good Friday, we will put Him on trial.

The perfectly innocent, pure victim will be judged and killed, and none of us will gather in front of the art gallery or block off a bridge to call attention to the atrocity.  Because we are all on the wrong side of the trial, the result of it should have sealed the fate of Man---damnation, if not for the twisted ending.

I don't know about you, but nothing really happened so far this week.  Things got worse, if I am to go by what are reported in the news.  Things have always been bad--and we know it.  Journalism, say, has become a crusade against injustice, and, for that, journalists will always be in good bad business.  There are always stuffs going on, questions we have since day one, that we can only escape them for the time being, take a vacation away from them, bridge another escapade shortly after the last to sustain our evasion, until Death declares No more dodging.  Judgement day.  And what are we going to speak then? what is there to report at the edge of things?

No one can live daily meaningful without speaking about the ultimately hopeful.  (By "ultimately" I don't mean only "finally" or "eventually."  It means what has been all along and shall forever be.)  

I feel I've been wasting my life and to a great degree still am.  It's the feeling of being under judgement and there's no way to talk myself out of it.  The finality that the crusader in us is pushing for is pushing back, cornering us in the dark alley behind the art gallery, compelling us to smell the piss-infused squalor under the bridge.  A yawn, and then a sigh, and repeat, that's how many of us live, minute after minute.

Jesus attends to our feet, meaning quite literally to give us a pedicure.  He calls our attention to the injustice of our path, one that ultimately puts God on trial.  I am disappointed in God, one day, ultimately, we will say.  Not that we have not been doing that all along.

If a voice in you is saying that there is no need for you to articulate your hope, I wouldn't want to hazard a guess where the voice is from.  You don't need to see cloven hooves and horns on a red face to know it's a subversive message from your Enemy in a battle that you are trying so hard to desert.  If one day you are to see your true human vocation is ultimately, now and forever, to proclaim the Good News of Jesus' magnificent defeat on the cross, you will know the feeling to breathe out your last sigh of relief.  For yourself.  And for the world.

Why do you complain, Jacob?
   Why do you say, Israel,
“My way is hidden from the Lord;
   my cause is disregarded by my God”?
Do you not know?
   Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
   the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
   and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary
   and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired and weary,
   and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the Lord
   will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
   they will run and not grow weary,
   they will walk and not be faint.

Yours, Alex