Distant and Near

As we enter the week between Palm Sunday and Easter, I’m thinking about what the friends and family of Jesus went through that first Passion week. The difficult week was sandwiched between two celebrations, Christ’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem and His resurrection. The English word “passion” has moved on from its earlier meaning, but the Latin root passio means “suffering.” What an appropriate description of that week. Jesus suffered. I can’t find sufficient adverbs for that verb.

Those who loved Him also suffered as they watched Him. They must have agonized the same way we do when we see a loved one treated cruelly or in excruciating pain. They mourned as we mourn over the death of a loved one.

Three of the gospels described that some of His friends watched from a distance.

Many women were there, watching from a distance. They had followed Jesus from Galilee to care for his needs. Among them were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joseph, and the mother of Zebedee’s sons. (Matthew 27:55-56 NIV)

Some women were watching from a distance. Among them were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joseph, and Salome. In Galilee these women had followed him and cared for his needs. Many other women who had come up with him to Jerusalem were also there. (Mark 15:40-41 NIV)

But all those who knew him, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things. (Luke 23:49 NIV)

John’s version of the story saw things differently.

Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. (John 19:25 NIV)

So were they standing at a distance or were they standing near the cross? Three writers saw them at a distance. One saw them standing near. Is this a contradiction? Was the proximity just relative to different observation points? Did time pass between one stance and the other? Did they have to keep a little distance while the Roman soldiers were on duty until death drew near? I’ve pondered the question this week because I enjoy the details of stories. Often the details are unnecessary to the main plot, but they do weave some texture into the scenery.

I imagined what it would be like to be one of those women.  So privileged they were to have shared the earth with Him. To walk right beside Him. To talk with Him on the hillside. To feel the freedom of His forgiveness. To lavish Him with expensive perfume. To love Him and to know how much He loved them. To watch Him from a distance and sometimes sit right at His feet. To discover the power of His death and resurrection.

And then I stopped imagining about them. No need to, because I am one of them.

So privileged to take my earthly journey with Him. To walk right beside Him. To talk with Him on the mountaintop and in the valleys. To feel the freedom of His forgiveness. To love Him and know how much He loves me. To lavish Him with scents of my worship. To have watched Him from a distance sometimes. And other times to sit down at His feet. To discover the power of His death and resurrection. I am one of those women.