I fired my contractors last week. They delayed the project three months and did not spend my payments according to the agreement. Even though the rehab is not done, we have to move (in the middle of a pandemic!), to make way for movement of movers pushing our buyers into our house.
So last night we said goodbye to grandmother’s table which has been such a good friend to our family and to community-building. And so I woke up early this morning worrying about how to cancel the insurance and get rid of the last loads of accumulated stuff before the new owners arrive. You can imagine the mess, I am sure.
I could barely remember what day it was last week. So it took me a minute to remember it was Palm Sunday, as I prayed yesterday. Once I remembered, it took me a minute to be there with Jesus. I said, “You are entering my Jerusalem and I am tempted to ignore you.” Then a wave of “remembrance” washed over me and I was present once again.
I did not mean I was completely ignoring Jesus. I know Jesus is with me, and even the turmoil of my prolonged transition this year has deepened my faith and gratitude. What I meant was, “I am as preoccupied as I imagine most of Jerusalem was when the Messiah made a symbolic entry into town, duly recognized as King by a minority, soon to go through his own mysterious transition through death into life to make a way for us all.”
As I continued to meditate, I had a few nice minutes thinking of someone other than myself and my distress.
I wondered what it would be like for Jesus to enter New York or Washington DC. The New York Times said of Trump’s latest briefing, “The president veered from grim warnings to baseless assurances in a single news conference as he predicted a surging death toll in what may be ‘the toughest week’ of the coronavirus pandemic.” On Palm Sunday, there were 1.2 million known cases, with 65.000 deaths attributed. China and Iran minimized statistics; the U.S. government dithered about how to proceed while New York continued to be clobbered.
Surely Jesus must be weeping over cities where people are stuck navigating this storm without any of his resources.
I ventured out with my mask firmly in place to borrow a truck from a loving friend so I could transport materials my contractor stored at his house. My friend’s kids were quarantined and stir crazy. His oldest had managed to string a pulley system between the neighbors and her upstairs window. I wondered what it would be like for Jesus to enter into that household and neighborhood. I know I had a hard time getting anyone’s attention. His phone did not work. His doorbell did not work. I finally had to interrupt the transport of cookies between third floors to get the keys. It is hard to disrupt total disruption
Surely Jesus is looked beyond the palm wavers and counted the hairs on the heads of all the shop owners along the way who were glad for a crowd because the wife and kids needed sandals. He also noticed the harried wife and her kids, one still nursing. Surely Jesus sees the sick or anxious people staring with little hope as another preoccupied parade goes by and they are left in the dust with their distress.
My mind often turns to Syria. It turned as I prayed on Palm Sunday. What would it be like for Jesus to enter there, where Covid-19 has just taken its first victim? We can only hope the worst does not occur. The war has left more than half of the country’s hospitals non-functional. There is a lack of drinking water, food, and medicine, and a shortage in healthcare personnel. Hundreds of thousands of displaced people are living in overcrowded camps in unhygienic conditions, where it is impossible to think of washing hands to fight the spread of infection, according to the Vatican. Now the borders are closed. The humanitarian crisis had left the screens of the West before the pandemic began — so interest has dried up. The churches are shut down and agencies giving aid are severely hampered.
The big plan in the Lord’s mind as he rode on his donkey may not have been so clear in detail as it was crystal clear in intent. The Syrians are not left out of eternal life. But what if you did not have enough water for your children to wash their hands more than once a day or so? There has never been Purell on the shelves there. I can’t imagine. But I can imagine the miracle it would take to penetrate that trouble.
In my small distress, the Lord penetrated my trouble. And I decided not to feel guilty for how small a trouble it is, relatively. I decided not to push my feelings down, bad and blessed, because they seem silly compared to what others face. Perhaps I am a turkey vulture, not a sparrow, but the Lord still sees me fall. If my life could have been less of a mess with better choices, the Lord is still looking for eye contact. If I can’t even imagine what it is like for people much worse off than I am, the Lord can still imagine how worth His life is to resurrect me and fill my quarantine with hope.