At once in the morning the chief priests held council with the elders, scholars and all the Sanhedrin and binding Jesus they led him off and handed him to Pilate.
- Mark's gospel
Mornin' Lord. It's Friday. I know I said there'd be writing each weekday during the season of Lent, but great horney toads, Lord, Lent is dragging on and on and on. This season has been hard so far, Lord. But you know that 'cause you know all things, right? So I guess its not news to you. I guess. Of course, you walked through the original Lent, so you could legitimately say, "Well, back in my Lent..." You could do that.
I'm sitting here looking at this verse from Mark's gospel, I've said the Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening, and I'm really listening, but I'm not hearing anything. No homily is emerging for those gathered at The Dirty Shame. No Dr. Seuss-like-rhyme-a-thing. No narrative rendering of the text this morning, Lord. There's just this verse that seems, well, sorta boring. Not boring in a boring way, Lord, but boring in a nothings-jumping-out-at-me way, which I guess is still boring.
This verse, these words that are apparently profitable for doctrine, correction, reproof and all that stuff, seem to get you from one place to another; its a transition verse. I'm not quite sure how that fits into doctrine, correction, reproof and all that stuff, but they are plenty of guys frantically figuring all that out, so I'll let 'em. Poor guys.
Mark's nouns and verbs are transporting you from that farce of a trial to the presence of Pilate. This micro slice of the gospel pie is keeping the story moving, drawing us one step closer to your big day.
I'm sorry, Lord, because I've got a just-get-this-verse-overwith attitude, sorta like I've got a just-get-this-day-overwith attitude. I'm guessing you didn't have that just-get-this-overwith attitude, that you were fully present every step of the way, each and every day of Lent. But then again, you were tempted in all ways just like me, so maybe that thought did cross your mind as they bound you, led you off, and handed you to Pilate. Maybe you were thinking for the love of almighty me, just get this overwith already. Can't we just skip the formalities of this accursed Lenten season and jump to Easter and put on our new clothes and hide eggs and get together with friends and say the "Alleluias" and ring the bells and sing that really cool "Up from the grave I arose" song?
But you drank that cup in the garden and so as tempting as the get-it-overwith thought may have been, you struggled through it, didn't you? You endured.
The endurance of Lent. Some guy wrote a song about you being "the famous one." That really doesn't resonate with me much, Lord. It doesn't stir my man pot. I believe you are "the brave one." God, you're brave.