The Momma's and the Papa's "Monday Monday"
I slept like one exhausted. A solid hard sleep which doesn't always leave one refreshed. Once I hit a certain age, I rarely experience solid state of sleep. But early this morning I was dreaming, and that's a sign of good sleep. My dreams were fleeting images, like the people flying through the tornado in the Wizard of Oz. It's a whirlwind week, no doubt.
On this Monday, we live on the precipice of Jesus's grand entrance into Jerusalem, his last supper, and his death. It will be a week filled with images, prayers, emotion.
On this Monday we are left behind. Jesus has gone on ahead of us. We will tell the story in a liturgy of scripture, song, images, bread and wine, foot-washing, nails, hammer, and a crown of thorns. We will tell the story in a stations of the cross created by images of brokenness in our world today, that point to Christ suffering with us.
My earworm this morning does not, exactly, correlate to the week - but it hints of the emotion of being left. Of a Monday where one can't do anything, because it's Monday. The week will take care of it's self, it will unfold as it will.
But on Monday all I can do is sit with the images of what is to come.