Plum has been coughing in the night a lot of late which inevitably means I get more night-time visits. Often, I’m indulgent and we cuddle for a long time. But (when I am more wakeful) I remind myself that we are trying to instil in him some night-time independence, and so I walk him back down the hallway to his bedroom.
Last night (or rather, this very-early morning) he resisted. He stood beside my bed with four teddies tucked up in his arms (a bear, a panda, a dragon and a dog), sleepily insisting that in his own bed he would be alone.
Isn’t that the fear?
This week, none of us want that. Our lectionary is crowded with dark stories, all too familiar, with dangers in crowds and fear in the streets. It isn’t easy to reflect on such betrayal, division and abandonment and not feel lonely.
Then, in the centre of the week, we have the story of a community meal. What is the last supper if not the very image of our complicated human togetherness? The disciples were scared, growing apart, and troubled about the future, but Christ gathered them into one place. Then he took the common place foods already on the table, blessed them, shared them and used them to tell his story. It’s basic storytelling. You bring people together, take something physical, and hold it up in a new light. Because they listened together, the story will belong to all of them. It may change how they see each other, too.
Yesterday, there was a donkey at our church. A real life, verifiable Palm Sunday donkey. That hasn’t happened for our family before, but apparently it is a bit of a tradition here. The worship service started outside, with the choir and the congregation all gathered around to hear the call to worship and the gospel read aloud. The donkey stood in the middle of the crowd, looking appropriately small and patient, and he stayed there as we processed in, singing.
He was still there after the service, to the children’s delight and, at lunch, there was so much to talk about. Beangirl said that when the children patted the donkey, she could see dust rising from his coat. Blue said that he was rough and soft at the same time, and warm under his hand. At supper, Plum lit up with recognition when we read about Jesus’ entry to Jerusalem on the donkey and he told us all that he knew the story because he had seen the donkey.
There is something profound that happens when we can see even a small part of the story with our own eyes.
I hope that our meals this week can work that way, too. We have a busy family week ahead. It is the last week of a tired school term as well as the last week in Lent, and the end of the week will see us travelling back to Edinburgh to visit friends over the Easter holiday. Because of the homesickness we’ve been through and the chaotic joy of return, it might be a fraught reunion. I hope that in the midst of this Holy Week, with everything that it brings, we can find togetherness at the table and that we can glimpse the meaning of the story as we look at each other with love.
I hope that for us all.
