33

I'm writing on Easter afternoon (He is risen!) but my thoughts are drifting back through this whole weekeng of worship services.  It's been quite a whirlwind.  We had a Maundy Thursday meal and service on Thursday, Tenebrae on Friday, and Easter services today.  Together these make up the "Amen corner" of the liturgical year (with apologies to everyone else watching the Master's this afternoon.)  It's exhausting as a pastor to lead these three heavyweight services in one weekend.  But that's what it's all about.  No complaints, just thinking back and relaxing this afternoon.

 

At the Tenebrae service on Friday, the service decended into darkness as our thoughts focused on the horrible crucifixion Christ endured.  In the pitch darkness at the end, a bell was rung 33 times signifying the 33 years of Jesus life when he was crucified.  I'm 33 this year.  It's odd to the be the age of Jesus.  I guess I always picture him looking older, wiser, more experienced.  He was all these things of course--but older.  It's odd to hear the bell rung 33 times and think of my own life and what I've done (or, more to the point, haven't done) in life compared to Jesus. 

 

I'm well aware that we all fall short of him and that there's little point comparing.  It's not a comparison I really want to make or intended to make.  But there was the bell ringing 30 . . .31 . . .32. . . 33 times and it wasn't just his age that I was remembering, it was my life that was being judged--if not by God, then by myself at the least.

 

From now on I will be older than Jesus ever was.  Kind of strange to think about.  I wonder what he would have been like if he had kept living to his 40th birthday or 50th.  How would he have changed?  Is it right to wonder how Jesus would mature through the ages?  I don't know.  I similarly wonder what I will be like in those years and how I will change.