Saying His Farewell

I love dates. They are exotic, strange, and seldom purchased. So, when they are, it is a delicious prospect. I make it a ritual of sorts. I get out my Afghani cups and drink my coffee as I nibble slowly into the soft sugared center.

Dates are especially lovely to eat in this particular week of Lent. Holy Week. When all the statues are covered, all the crosses shrouded. It is a week pregnant with waiting, both for us and for Jesus. It is not just a waiting, though - it is also a remembering. Jesus saying goodbye to this particular world he has shared with His friends.

I picture Jesus eating one date from his homeland, where they grow in such abundance, and relishing the taste. Would He miss that taste? I see Him trailing his hand in the water as Simon pulls out for a catch - knowing and delighting in the feel of wetness on skin. The wind on the back of his neck as it flows through His hair. A rough rope. The feel of a leather sandal strap. Fire. The look of Peter's familiar expression as he tends that fire - absently laughing at a passing joke. Jokes. Singing. Singing with lungs full of air. Dancing with abandon to the steps and song composed by His people Israel, this people "peculiarly His own”, to release joy and praise to His Father.

Praying with the peculiar speech of man, language - Aramaic words. Praying alone in the sun baked hills with that silent smell of dust all about. Praying in boats. in crowds who begged Him to teach them how to pray - and He did. We pray it still, we who beg that we also be taught. Relishing the feel of fish just out of a lake. The press of crowds - earthy smells. The memory of aromatic nard like sorrow flowing profligately as scented love all over His feet. The feel of wiping away a tear on a penitent cheek. Flowers in a field. Lilies that do not toil. Smiling at the inspiration they gave to Him - their part of the sermon when He sat on a mountain and taught.

All these sights, smells, tastes, feelings. Jesus experiencing a series of 'lasts'. Saying goodbye to the earth slowly and with attention - for "attention is love". This very small piece of the earth where He pitched His tent and lived for 33 years. This is a week for remembrances and a week for saying goodbye before setting His face like flint before the Will of the Father.

As the statues are covered and the crucifixes, I too say good bye a little at a time to all the beauty in the quiet Church for a time. To Mary and Joseph who have heard my whispered prayers as I passed them after Mass. It is good to feel wistful for their return. It makes gratitude more focused for what we DO have and have been GIVEN by Christ through His Church when we might have forgotten.

It is my way of knowing how poignant it might have been for Jesus to say a human good bye to all that He had come to know and sense not only as perfect God, Creator - but perfect Human like us in all things but sin.

He loved our words, he loved our roads, sitting in the shade of our roofs, He relished our dates and ate our bread. He loved the wind in his hair and the feel of water. Truly and in every way His delight was to be with the children of men.

Can the mind or heart ever fathom what that might mean? That we, and our ordinary ways are delighted in by God.

I do not feel inclined at this time to have a paid substack. But if we were together in a cafe discussing all these thoughts, I would not be opposed to you buying me a cup of coffee - with cream, of course. In that spirit, if any of my posts resonate with you and you feel so inclined, you can donate here: buymeacoffee.com/denise_trull