I remember fondly walking the dark halls of Weller to rooms lit by a single candle, during the season of Lent. People silently gathered along the walk to remember Jesus, a meditation and fondness for his being beaten and stripped and mocked and cruelly nailed to heavy wood and left to die. Singing "Go to Dark Gethsemane, ye that feel the temptor's power." That melody meant everything to me --the somberness, the grief, and wonder. Being held by the One who lives forever. Calling me his child. A grown 62 year adult-child, tenderly met, held close, thought of by the Lord, the Most High's precious Son.
Thanks to those who modeled this emotion for me as a child. Pastor spoke about the 40 days leading up to Easter this morning. Lots of words for those who didn't know. For me, the heritage ran deep. St. Paul says how we can be known deeply, how ugly inner workings can be viewed by a loving God, and his mercy pours gratitude out from within the mess that I hide. It is his embrace. That blood cure that makes me know inspite of the crap hidden within he calls me his little boy.
This is You. My king. tears of joy. Yes!!!!!!!!!
