It's about six a.m. and I am headed to White Rock Lake for my usual run with a group I have met there for years. Today will be different for two reasons. First, it is my last run of any length before the Boston Marathon on April 20; and, second, I will have on my mind the suffering and death of Jesus. We usually joke, catch up, or give movie reviews as we run the 9.2 mile loop around the lake.
This morning, I will remember at sunrise, about the time we start our loop, that the rooster crowed three times and signaled Peter's denial of his Leader and Friend. I will remember that Jesus has been up all night ridiculed and made a joke through a bogus trial process that would hand him over to the Romans to be killed.
I will recall the circus of injustice before Pilate and the screams of the mob to crucify the one who came to show them (me) the love of God. I am the guards. I am the mob. I am Pilate. I see Jesus and turn my back too many time.
This morning although it is crisp, clear and beautiful, I will remember the horror of injustice on Good Friday and the silence of Sabbath and death on Saturday.