Memoirs

The events of September 11 are etched indelibly into our hearts and minds. We remember the horror and disbelief with which we watched the destruction of the twin towers, the clouds of black smoke billowing above Manhattan as a wave of people sought safety.

Imagine, then, if we could travel back in time to the crucifixion of Christ and be a spectator to those events. I think of the battered body of Christ, shrunken and drained by the pain of His final hours. His hair is matted with blood from the puncture wounds of the crown of thorns so roughly forced upon His head. Every rib stands out in His gaunt frame, and gaping ragged holes tear his wrists and feet. The side wound, where the spear was thrust, is sharper and cleaner. Perhaps it was in the tomb that they lay this broken body on His mother’s lap so that she could mourn quietly and privately for just a little while before they wrapped Him in the burial cloths. Did she think of the first time she held Him, when all soft and sweet in swaddling clothes, He began His journey to do His Father’s will? Her heart almost bursting with sadness, did she also remember how she feared they would lose Him because of Herod’s edict to kill all males under the age of two? The trip to Egypt to escape this massacre must have been a lonely one. With no time to lose, they could not wait for a caravan that would afford them some protection against wild beasts and thieves along the way. They could take little with them, and only had time for a hasty farewell to their loving families. With the memory of the fear of that time, of the sorrow of having to leave loving parents when she was so young, also came the memory of the love and gentleness of Joseph. Of how he would stand with his arm around her shoulders as they both lovingly gazed down upon this perfect infant. How His love and confidence in them shone from His eyes and played upon His lips. (more…)