Walking home

Silent walk behind the cross through the town of Banchory this morning. Jet-lagged but there, because it is a highlight of the Easter observances. Some of the pavements are broad and clear; part of the walk is through a park; much of it is on narrow pavements and many times, twines of ivy or overhanging branches brush the faces of those whose meditations have taken their eyes off the pathway. A lot like life, I thought.

Walking each other home. How that phrase has enriched my life these past months and this morning, as I thought of Jesus’ own final walk through the steep streets of Jerusalem, I reflected that he, too, needed help walking home. Exhausted and savagely beaten, he crumpled beneath the weight of the cross and someone was pulled in to carry it for him. Someone may have mopped his brow. Someone cared for his body after his death. 

Jesus’ life was not a walk in the park. He asked his friends, the night before he died, to stay with him and pray and watch. They fell asleep on the job. We are all walking each other home, but at the moment, with my dear mother nearly 92, I feel most conscious of walking her home. It is a challenge in many ways, throwing me out of my comfort zone, requiring long-distance skype calls and a lot of prayer, and her forgetfulness can become tedious and demanding. But I am so conscious that this is a privilege, a blessing, that I am entrusted with staying awake with Mom, with doing what I can to make the final walk, however long or short, easier for her. May I remain awake and vigilant, inspired and empowered by Jesus.