Grey Wonder

March 28, 2020

Clouds hovered close to the earth here in Western New York today. There’s nothing unusual about that. I’ve heard there are actually places in the world where if it isn’t raining, it’s sunny. Western New York is not one of them. Overcast is normal here. Which is why yesterday was so invigorating. Linda and I got some yard work done, pulling some bayberry bushes that she says reach out and grab her with their prickers when she mows the lawn. She was very appreciative. Normally, I believe in “live and let live” when it comes to the shrubbery around the yard, but I have to admit it looks better the way it is now. 

But that was yesterday; today is dreary. It takes effort to keep the dreariness from penetrating our souls. My seminary theology professor, Paul Hessert, did his doctoral work at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland. He claimed with some rationale, that John Knox’s dour Presbyterian theology was a product of the dreary Scottish climate. 

In spite of the weather and the enforced isolation of social distancing, the sun still shines and people are finding creative ways to stay connected. Social media, which has promised so much and delivered so little when it comes to connecting us, is finally earning its keep. I wish I could say as much about our dog Emma. At least the cat occasionally catches a mouse. Emma barks at whatever she thinks is across the creek, but has yet to catch anything she chases. 

This morning, I was reading in John’s Gospel the story of Jesus’ crucifixion. I was struck by the calm, matter-of-fact way the entire scene is presented. Perhaps it’s because the original readers knew all too well what crucifixion was like, but there is no melodrama, no pulling at the heartstrings, no gory details. “The Greatest Story Ever Told,” as the 1965 movie by that name puts it, is told with the dispassionate manner of a reporter. As I read, I wondered what it was like for Jesus to be flogged, have a thorny crown pressed onto his brow, a purple robe thrown over his shoulders in mockery, and paraded before the crowd as Pilate proclaimed, “Behold, the man!” 

Before the scene ends, that same Pilate is bearing unwitting witness to an even greater reality: this man is King of the very people who were clamoring for his death. Jesus knew what awaited him, yet doesn’t grovel, doesn’t beg, doesn’t rail against his accusers or executioners. I wonder if he looked down through the ages, saw me and said, “this is for you, Jim.” Knowing me as I do, I am in amazement that he would endure all that for someone as fickle and sinful as I. I am humbled that though unworthy, he would say of me, “worth it.” Even grey skies cannot shroud the wonder and glory of such love.