I wanted to save him.

I want to save him.

I cannot save him.

I cannot even save myself.

Something is happening.

He tells us little, but there is a sadness in his eyes now that I can't understand.

He is supposed to lead us to some greater good.

But he isn't thinking about what we are thinking about.

His face is set toward Jerusalem.

He has no money, no army, no power in that culture.

He hears the wealthy who want an audience.

He hears the beggars' requests for healing,

He hears the soldier acknowledge his lowly need.

He sees parents caring for their children, for the elderly, for the disabled.

He makes no excuses, explains nothing, accepts food and water and shelter,

but there is a pensive look in the eyes of anyone close to him.

To look in that calm, tender face is to know infinite love.

But the ineffable sadness in his eyes is unmistakable.

Children and the elderly see him and must touch him.

Only later do we learn that his great work in Jerusalem

is dying – to his plans for his life, to his own will.

They cannot imagine the horror.

“Feed my sheep.” An enormous yet unequivocal request for a flawed human.

He is sad for us; he is not open to our opinions.

His blood and bone are here, but his heart is far away.

He must do this thing, regardless of his feelings about it.

We will abandon him. We know it even as we protest.

We cannot imagine before it happens what would make us do this, but it happens.

We must do what follows, the work of nurturing those people who heard his message.

I cannot imagine the pain of separation and helplessness until

the door is barred in my face and I hear him whimper.

We all see him flogged, dragging that wooden thing

murmuring psalms as he struggles to breathe

finally ceasing. We are relieved, sore and stiff from our own anguish.

We find a place to lay him and prepare the emaciated body,

so innocent.

We do not eat, do not sleep, do not speak.

And then he is gone. Did they steal him?

No, he was seen. He was seen. He spoke.

He was dead - we saw him, touched him -

and is risen.

He is risen.

Can I, too, be resurrected?