It is April and the snow banks rise high and the landscape speaks weary.
It is supposed to be spring, yet winter pounds hard.
Work is hard and marriage is the hardest.
Addiction ordeals, pain wields, anxiety steals.
Children stumble and parents grumble and smack.
Little ones crayola coloring bleed trauma and teachers bleed exhaustion.
Missiles looking for land drop into the sea, and trains explode and more people are ripped.
Some days there is nothing left to give but to give up.
This whole wide world and all its broken-down busted up blue can be a hard place to be when winter refuses to give up its grip. When suffering seems to still have the upper-hand. But give it up it must. Give it up it will.
My Lenten journey has Jesus walking toward Jerusalem, that city of peace.
His friends are high with hope, like when crocuses poke through the snow. Spring!
But, Jesus keeps talking about capture and torture and death. And what is this thing about the third day?
From that time on Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.
It is a gray Wednesday and melancholy wraps its cloak around me. I am familiar with the feel of it for it comes every Lenten season near the end. I want to give up.
When this happens there is only one place for me to look. Past the tombs of melancholy and cynicism, I look to the cross. I look up. I give up.
This week Jesus is walking toward His Jerusalem, knowing what He will face there.
He, too, will give up.