Lent 2022, Holy Monday



 (I decided to borrow heavily from what I wrote about Holy Week in 2020.  Hope that's ok ... )

We know a fair amount about how Jesus spent the original Holy Monday: according to the Gospel of Mark, Jesus cursed a fig tree and overturned the money changers’ tables in the temple courts. Basically, he spent much of that Monday in a snit. A holy snit, but still ... things looked bleak, and he was justifiably cranky. I imagine we can all relate on this Holy Monday, 2022. Pandemic, authoritarian governments, war ... it's not good.
Despite all the distractions and worries, I am determined to make this year’s Holy Week count: I will do my best to enter into the history and passion of it, the dread and the horror and ultimately, the hope—a hope that is not baseless, not wishful thinking. We know how the story ends, after all. We know Easter is just around the corner. But even so, this day is dark and heavy as we wait. And hope.
Two years ago, I talked about Feynman waiting to be let in, how we know that his human siblings will come around and welcome him into their rooms, how we know the end of the story, at least the immediate one. With Libby it's not so simple; she's not so simple. So all we can do is trust, even on the days that are hard, that the one who hates the injustice of religion that profits from people's need, the one who knows the sparrows--also knows yellow street dogs and knows (and cares!) how their stories end.

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