On a bit of a whim, I committed yesterday morning to live the day in light of Good Friday. Being Maundy Thursday with Good Friday in close proximity, my knee-jerk experiment was that I’d like to live a day in the shadow of the suffering that we mark on Good Friday. This idea popped into my head as I was thinking on the events of Holy Week, pondering over some Holy Week artwork from my niece Maggie, and drinking my holy cup of morning coffee. I’d like to run all the events of my day through this thought filter: “Since Jesus suffered so tortuously for me, I can…[fill in the blank] or, I will…[fill in the blank].”
The first exercise in the experiment came as I took sip number 8-ish of that holy cup of coffee thinking I might jot down a thought about this exercise and then get to my hospital office a little early…to get started on my experiment. If you don’t know, I’m serving as a patient representative at our local hospital, a position I took on two years ago in a move to shore up health coverage for our growing family. It’s a great place with great people, and being that my position calls for interacting with the public, it offers plenty of opportunity to put my experiment of the day into practice. But as I took that eighth sip of coffee, the craziness of a busy school morning with a 5- and 6-year old took over and I neither got to jot down any thoughts, nor get to the office early. But, that was okay, which was my first clue that I might be on to something with this experiment.
However, on my 4-minute walk from my parking space to my office at the hospital I had an unnerving thought: Making a commitment to intentionally walk a day in light of Jesus’ suffering is a little too much like asking God to teach you patience or asking God to each you humility. You DO NOT want to make those requests lightly. In fact, if you’re smart, you don’t want to make those requests at all. You learn those things on your own without God’s intervention. The commitment to run the dynamics of my day through the filter of suffering suddenly felt like I had bitten off more than I could, or wanted to, chew. But I kept walking to the hospital office.
The day progressed its usual frenetic pace. The thought of my experiment would come and go as the busyness of the day kicked in. I might have gone a 3-hour stretch without giving it a thought. But then it would work its way back into my process memory and I would again be filtering my anxieties, frustrations, and disappointments through the mental images that Good Friday conjures up.
As my day finished up and I made the 3-minute walk from the hospital to my parking space (it’s faster when you’re headed home) I can humbly and honestly say that I had felt myself making internal adjustments. Granted, the movement was likely imperceptible. I doubt that anyone around me noticed. But I felt more generous with my time, I felt a looser grip on my agenda (personal, professional), the anxieties had less edge. The kicker, though, is that I could sense that everything was connected to one particular trait. Trust. That was unexpected. My thought process went something like this: If Jesus took such a colossal hit for me in order to protect me, to rescue me, then I can walk in confidence in whatever this day, or any day, is going to throw at me. I don’t have to react out of the flesh. I can trust the circumstances and everything is going to be okay. Especially since I know that Good Friday becomes Great Sunday!
I am pleased with the results of my experiment, and I think I will adopt it as a lifestyle.
A note about the artwork: You can find Maggie’s Holy Week art journey here