Christ The King

" The rulers sneered at Jesus and said, ' He saved others, let him save Himself if He is the Chosen One, the Christ of God.' Even the soldiers jeered at Him. As they approached, they called out, 'If you are the King of the Jews, save Yourself.'  Now one of the criminals hanging there reviled Jesus, saying, ' Are You  not the Christ? Save Yourself and us.'  The other, however, rebuking Him, said in reply, ' Have you no fear of God, for you are subject to the same condemnation? And indeed, we have been condemned justly . . . but this man has done nothing criminal.' Then he said, ' Jesus, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.' He replied to him, ' Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.' ".     [ Luke 23: 35-43].

My Wise Advisor has told me, you die in the way that you have lived. 

Therefore, if you lived angry, you will die angry. If you lived bitter, you will die bitter.

But, if you lived in peace, you will die in peace. If you lived in gratitude, you will die in gratitude.

In this Gospel, Jesus died the way He had lived. He died with all humility. He was confronted with rulers and soldiers demanding, "Are You not the Christ?"  Notice that Jesus did not shoot back, "Do you realize who I AM ?!"

Above all, Jesus died in Love. His last act was not to save Himself.  It was to love and to save others, who believed in Him.

I have all this in mind as I love and remember a friend of the family who died several years ago.

I first met this lovely Irish lady, Muriel, before I was even married. It was the first Thanksgiving after I had met the man I ended up  marrying. My family did not allow me to share Thanksgiving with his family, because we were not even engaged yet. But I was able to join them or dessert.

Dessert that year was at Muriel's house. I walked into her home, nervous and shy. But she sat me down, gave me a cup of tea and a piece of pie. I felt instantly welcome.

Many, many years later, her beloved husband died.  Then years after that, she was diagnosed with cancer.

I had married my husband, and we had moved away from the town where he grew up and where Muriel lived.

One day, I received a call from one of my husband's siblings: Muriel was traveling up to a hospital near us, for treatment.

Towards the end of her long battle, Muriel was admitted to a convalescent home IN the town where we lived. There was only one conclusion -- God had sent Muriel back to me, and I was meant to share her company and her stories.

Muriel had married late in life and never had children. I had a mother who was cruel and unforgiving.
For about 4-6 weeks, she treated me like the daughter she had never had. And I gained the kind of loving mother I had only dreamed of.

 Muriel was tall and slim and always, always impeccably dressed. Her wool tweed skirts, flat pumps
and cardigan sweaters, her pearls and her perfectly wavy hair, all marked her as a proper Irish lady.

And yet, she had a keen sense of humor. She was smart and almost sassy. Best of all, she called me "dear" and "honey", like a mother would. And if the weather was bad, she would call me, just as I was anxiously looking out the window, and she would tell me not to come, it was too dangerous. I knew she needed my visits, but always, she put others before herself.

Muriel refused to get "down in the dumps", as she called it.

I would urge her to reminisce, to tell me her stories. I would tell her, "Tell me again, Muriel, about the day that a horse showed up in your yard!"

She told me that story again several times, about how her husband was at work and one morning, she looked out the window and found herself looking straight into the eyes of a horse. This was not so remarkable, except that she lived in the suburbs of a large city. What on earth was a horse doing in her yard?!

We laughed until tears came down our cheeks, a good, belly deep laugh that we both needed. She told me how she called the police and they told her, "Right, lady." Then, she called her husband and he had to run home at lunchtime, to see it for himself.

One day, my husband's sister came in from out of town to see Muriel. We all knew that Muriel was near the end. That ebbing away was the "unspoken thing" in the room.

At the end of the visit, Muriel did not want to say goodbye, but she had to let us go. My husband's sister gave her a tight hug. But, I could not bring myself to hug Muriel. I could not believe she was so near to the end.

I was convinced that I would see Muriel again at the usual time the next week. So instead of hugging her, I gently massaged her feet and said, " See you next week."  Muriel smiled at me weakly.

The very next day, my sister-in-law called to say that Muriel had passed away.

For the longest time, I felt horribly guilty about how I had not hugged Muriel. About a year later, the call came upon me to convert. At Holy Thursday, I told my pastor that I could not imagine Jesus washing my feet! The pastor said, 'Actually, it is the most humbling thing that you could imagine.'

It was then that I knew that I had NOT done the wrong thing in rubbing Muriel's feet, instead of hugging her. No, I had been called to love and to serve Muriel. I had bent down to essentially anoint her feet.

But it was Muriel who had served me and loved me best. For she had served as a mother, with love and good humor, when I needed it most. She had given me more than I ever gave her.

I ask you:  How do you live? How do you love?

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