Mtr Mary Trainor
Dear friend,
Read the room.
It’s a popular phrase that suggests if you want to know what is going on, look around, note faces, body language. Are people smiling or crying, standing to clap or walking away? Reading the room reveals a great deal, and can change our responses.
Some people do this better than others. They’re more alert, more intuitive, more experienced.
I wonder if that may be why one thief of two, hanging on crosses alongside Jesus, was able to sense who Jesus was and what was happening.
***
Our Gospel passage from Luke today, while not seasonally expected, is familiar from the passion of Jesus. By some means, the one thief perceives who Jesus is and the opportunity of grace given in that horrible moment.
Did he read the pain on the horrified faces of the women looking on? Did he sense their suffering?
Did he notice the weeping figure of a mother, inconsolable though surrounded by many who tried to console?
Was there something about Jesus himself, something that helped this thief realize some terrible mistake was about to be made? Did he look into Jesus’ eyes and see the fields of heaven?
Sometimes one moment of recognition is all it takes for understanding.
***
My father battled colon cancer for four years. The first year after initial surgery was pretty rough. Years two and three were almost normal. He and the rest of us relaxed a bit, thinking maybe he had beaten this thing. But then came year four, and steady decline.
None of us looked at the pattern straight-on, preferring to believe he would come back from this, too. When he returned to the hospital, we just assumed this stay was like all the others from which he came home. Sure, he seemed worse. Symptoms more severe. He had to be restrained, that was new. Still, the family clung to its old friend, Denial. Until. Until I called the oncologist hoping he could explain what was happening. “Well, he’s dying, you know.”
We didn’t know. But what that doctor had said so indelicately changed our perception in an instant. The whole previous year was seen as a long transition with only one outcome. My father’s outbursts, his conversations with someone not in the room. Now all made sense following one brutal moment of truth having broken through.
***
We shall not know what opened one criminal’s eyes to see in an instant the innocence of the man hanging next to him. We do know, through the eyes of faith, that we have been given the same promise of life beyond the moment of our earthly pain and struggle:
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
Mtr Mary