Every birthday, my teenagers ask for "Mommy-Daddy" movies. Each year they earn certain titles as a sign of their growth and maturity. This year, among titles such as "Red," "Iron Man," and "Mystery Men," they earned "The Passion." It was not the cartoon violence and likeable characters they were accustomed to watching. This was a vivid portrayal of a real group of people, participating in a real event in a real place in history. We see it every Sunday, depicted in art and at Mass, but there seems to be disconnect between what we see and what we understand. They told me they were different this morning. They slept better last night than they had since Lent began. This hasn't happened since they were introduced to "The Chosen" in 2020.
Having Jesus in my life is a little like breathing. To be honest, I'm kind of a terrible person. I often forget how much He loves me and how much He suffered so that I can have life. Until I fall into a pool of distress, and suddenly I can't breathe. Could my forgetfulness truly separate me from God? I haven't really given Him a whole lot of reasons to love me. Why should He save me over and over again? Because I asked Him to do so. Because I fought through the lies and the darkness to call out my Savior's Holy Name, and He was right there to pull me up from the darkness. He is always there to help me when I fight my way back to Him, through the thorns, brambles, and deceptions of the devil.
I will give thanks to You among the peoples, O Lord; I will sing Your praises among the nations. For Your kindness extends to the Heavens; your faithfulness, to the skies. Be exalted, O God, above the Heavens; let Your glory radiate over all the Earth.
Psalm 57: 10-12