"Aren't We There?"

"Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Oh sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble,

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?

Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?

Oh sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble

Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?..."

If you're reading this post, then once again, you, me, friend and foe, have made it through another year and are now traversing the Holiest week for Christians.  While I have endured numerous challenges including, but not limited to technological setbacks and was the victim of a rear-end collision, I, too, can say that I am excited about what this week brings in terms of observance and hopefully some earnest reflection.  Hell after the month I've had, I'm even a little "gitty" at the chance to gaze upon some man wearing a yellow, orange, lime green or even purple/lavender suit on Easter Sunday.

I remember those days when I was too young to know better or to say anything about being forced to wear patent leather shoes (be they white or black), rolled-down socks with the lace at the top, with a pretty little pink, yellow, white or powder blue dress on (complete with petticoat).  Of course my hair was in at least two - no more than four ponytails or plats (that's what they called braids back then), and depending on just how precious all of that was - a pair of white gloves was the equivalent of a black woman's church hat.  Now c'mon... You know in the Black church, especially on Easter Sunday, a black woman was not really dressed up until she put on that hat.  And baaaaby - Honey chile please!  You had better know when our mothers stepped out the house and into the church house with a hat on...; It was serious business!  She was sharper than two tacks and a nail!  Look out now!  Whatchu say!  We were all dressed up to go listen to the story about how they led poor Jesus to be lied on, beaten half to death and nailed to the cross.  

A tree is more likely what he was hung from, but hey, I was a little girl then and if that's what Mama said he was nailed to, that's sure as hell what it was.  Whatever the case may be, we were all dolled up to see and be seen!  I personally couldn't wait until after church was over so we could go out back or across the street to the park for the Easter Egg hunt.  Sometimes I wondered what would have happened to Jesus if only he had planned an Easter Egg hunt for the children.  Would they still had beaten him up and killed him?  The thought of that made me kinda sad.  I mean really...  What would have happened if only he had organized an Easter Egg hunt for the kids.  I reasoned, "The grown up people appeared so happy watching us hunt down all those colorful eggs.  And, everybody knows that Easter Eggs taste better than a regular ole eggs.  So instead of telling the kids stories and sitting them on his lap with a bunch of sheep laying around, he should have had an Easter Egg hunt!"  It just made more sense to me.  If he had done that, instead of getting dressed up to go hear the sad story about the people crucifying Jesus, we could have heard about the multitude of Easter Eggs he made appear for the children and the grown ups.  He would have been crowned the Easter Bunny and not the King of the Jews!  I'm jes sayn...

But seriously, all across this land and abroad, Christians everywhere are singing, "Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna in the Highest," in celebration of Jesus' "triumphant" entrance into Jerusalem.  The expectation being the establishment of the new Kingdom.  A Kingdom that is otherworldly, inward and all around us.  Churches are preparing for Easter Sunday Festivities, Easter Egg hunts and the yearly, "Seven Last Words" Service.  Each observance is meant in praise of Jesus' ultimate sacrifice for our eternal salvation.  That's all well and good.  But for me, I no longer have the luxury of a fanciful imagination that youth affords.  Consequently, it's all so very neat, so very clean and so very pretty.  A man was lied on, conspired against, beaten almost to death, nails driven through both his wrist and feet, and mocked as his life slipped away.  Why?  For what?  Because he dared to question the religious leaders and traditions of his day?  Because he dared to recognize the sacred worth of each and every human being?  Because he walked with and talked with women as freely as he did with the men?  Because the poor, the lame, the widow were at the forefront of his mind?  Because the "haves" had no greater standing or importance than the "have nots?"  Because he dared to encourage others to live and love as God has loved us?  Because he dared to be present in the life of others suffering - taking it on as his own?  And finally, because he instructed us to be kind, just and to actively fight against oppressive doctrine and rule?

When I think about it, indeed, "sometimes it makes me tremble, tremble, tremble."  If the way we treat each other today is any indication of what we have learned from his death, I fear today's social, cultural, political, religious and spiritual leaders would do the same as before.  Quiet as it's kept, save a few exceptions, in many ways, we crucify him daily.

"Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?
Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?
Oh sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble
Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?
                                                           (Negro Spiritual)
© Dorinda G. Henry, 2011

THEOLOGIA HABITUS EST!