Holy Monday… When we
remember that sometimes dead stuff comes back to life…
As I was processing this on my way to work, I was thinking
about dead dreams. You see, I’m getting
ready to push a couple of buttons within the next few hours that will both
change the trajectory of my path for the next several years and resurrect
something I hoped for that I thought was long since dead. I could feel my eyes smiling. It’s been awhile.
And then it got better…
As I walked into the church, I was heading down the hall
toward my office when I saw my sweet, 90 year old friend, who had a heart
attack a few weeks ago, heading my way… looking very well… very whole… heck,
her hair and make-up look so much better than mine, today, I am put to shame, and she is headed to the salon and to
exercise, this afternoon…
Like my dreams, she wasn’t actually dead, but sometimes it’s close enough that we feel the
full effect, anyway.
The words of John 12:1-11 remind us of Jesus’ visit to his
once-dead friend, Lazarus. They remind
us of Mary’s grief that begins well before the crucifixion and manifests itself
in greasy hair that smells like a tomb.
They remind us of the grasping at straws that is the unease of people
who keep trying to kill and destroy what is eternal, even though it can’t be
done.
Repeat: It can’t be done.
L.
