Middle school kids of our church acted the roles in a gospel play at a Lenten service. Bathrobes, towels — you know the scene. In walked Jesus — a slender, blond 12-year-old girl. She carried herself with dignity. She radiated warmth and caring. Judith was Jesus.
On Good Friday I traveled to a nearby Methodist church for a Holy Week mime. Thin threads of music from a violin and a flute wove through the audience as the silent actors marched from the Last Supper to the Crucifixion. And through the whole production, the one scourged, wounded and crucified was my friend Maureen. She felt each blow, she gazed in sadness at the denying Peter, and she granted forgiveness from the cross. Maureen was the Christ.
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