Today on this Maundy Thursday, as we continue remembering and retelling our faith community’s ancient, sacred drama, that began with the waving of palms last Sunday, I am meditating on Christ, in a woman named Vilma.
Like my parents, Vilma left the Philippines — a country made up of over 7,100 islands halfway around the world — to find and make a new life for herself here in the United States.
As many of us have now read and seen on video footage, last Monday morning as she was walking to church, Vilma was assaulted, stomped on and kicked by a man who told her “she doesn’t belong here”. The video footage is taken from inside a hotel where one can see a hotel employee-security officer closing a glass door as he and others watch the scene unfold.
I am meditating on betrayal, that Jesus experienced at the hands of a friend, that Vilma experienced at the hands of a stranger.
I am meditating on mocking and insulting, that Jesus endured as Rome’s latest “example”, that Vilma endured as America’s latest “other”.
I am meditating on a weeping mother, beholding the body of her beloved son; and a weeping daughter, beholding the body of her beloved mother.
I am meditating on crowds and bystanders; hatred and fear; isolation and inaction.
I am meditating on Christ in the man named Brandon, who perpetrated the violence; on his own pain and internal, daily crucifixion, that could lead him to such brutal treatment of another human being (and, years before, of his own mother).
I am meditating on the darkness that overwhelms, and the light that breaks through.
I am meditating on the holy work before us … before us individually and as a community … to bind up each other’s wounds and to be instruments of healing and hope, in our time and place.
I am meditating on Love Rising, always Rising, ever Rising … and the mystery of it All …
And finally, I am meditating on gratitude, gratitude for being on this sacred journey, together in community with you.