Remembering...

Well, life has taken over, and when that happens, updates become sparse. It's holy week...which means, of course, worship insanity. Honestly, this is not meant as a complaint. I have gone through years when it struck me on Saturday morning, after a day I would traditionally give at least a brief pause to consider the crucifixion and the death of my savior...for me...that I had not even realized Good Friday had come and gone. I don't attach any superstitious value to the day, and realize that I should be living every single day in remembrance of that mind-boggling, life-altering event, but there is something to be said for a moment's reflection. Even a day's reflection. This year, instead I have been allowed to help plan a Good Friday worship service, and an Easter worship service...and reflection has happened as a natural part of the process. While planning the rehearsal and thinking about the special music I'll sing, and making sure my heart is in the right place to sing and to lead and to even participate in all that will happen this weekend...I have spent much time thinking on holy week and it's significance in my faith. In my redemption. In my eternity. And in the midst of baking a giant cake for Awana, carting kids to their practices, planning rehearsals and transitions and desserts for family gatherings, and working out...this year, I am remembering.

It is overwhelming to do so much remembering.

Four or five years ago, Seth and I left our kids with their favorite babysitter and went with our home group to see The Passion of the Christ. I will never, ever watch it again. I don't need to watch it again. Once those images flashed on the screen, they were etched in my brain forever. I guess, if at some point, my memory fades, I should watch it again so that can't happen. Frankly, I'm not worried about that. What I did do, however, after sobbing through the movie to the point of throwing up, was block it from my mind. It hurt to realize the graphic reality of what my Jesus went through. I pushed it away. After talking with my home group about how eye-opening it was, and shaking my head and saying how much it made me think whenever it came up in conversation (which happened less and less often as time passed) it became really easy to just not think about it. Conveniently. As I have planned this year, those images have flashed through my memory. Over and over and over again. In my mind, the face of my Jesus will always resemble Jim Caviezel. Because I have continually seen his face this week. The garden. The betrayal. The trial. The beatings. The screams. His mother, watching. His Father turning his back on his Son.

A Father's love and mercy and sacrifice. A Son's willingness to obey, and also to love. To love me.

This year, I'm remembering.

Are you?