Crucify Him? Really?

Every Palm Sunday I wish the same thing: that during the Passion of Christ when it comes time for the congregation to chime in with, “Crucify Him,” that no one says a word. But that’s never happened and it didn’t happen again this year. I know the reading is a re-enactment, of sorts, but still I wish for everyone to simply remain silent. That would send a bigger message to the church – send a bigger message to God – an immense, yet silent, “I’m sorry.” Like if we had it all to do over again we would try to do the right thing. Maybe next year.

As I look forward to my week I have so much to do. All moms do. Dragging out the familiar recipes. Writing the grocery list, buying food for our own dinner as well as for the places we visit. Baking the cookies and pies. Tending to my parents. Tending to my own family and my own house while participating in the many church activities all week long. It boggles the mind. I wish my family attended these activities with me. But they don’t. And I don’t push anymore. It’s not worth the opposition. They’re doing their own thing these days. So add onto the anticipated work a dash of misplaced guilt at not being at home several nights this week. What’s a mother to do? A mother who especially during Holy Week, feels that her first duty is to God, over family.

But right now I feel I have some control over it. One week to go. If I plan well and organize diligently perhaps I can pull this off without repeating the Christmas fiasco. I sure hope I do.

It never fails that during Holy Week each year I feel as if I haven’t done enough. I feel I always come up short. Why is that? Perhaps it’s because as Good Friday approaches I realize that no matter what I ever do, it could never compare to what God has done for me by sacrificing His one and only Son. Or, perhaps it’s the nagging question: If I were there in Jerusalem that fateful day would I have stayed silent? Or would I have gone with the crowd yelling, “Crucify Him”? I’ll never know.