All the hymns we sang Easter morning were full of me’s. Me, me, me, paired with the occasional I. Jesus died for me. Jesus saved me. Jesus sacrificed for me. I am not worthy of what Jesus did for me. What if we changed the me? What if we made it, Jesus died for the man sleeping on the sidewalk whom you just walked by? Jesus died for drug lord...

I always saw the “sour wine” incident as just ugliness. There Jesus is, dying, and those watching run and put sour wine on a stick and offer it to him. Taunting him, it seemed to me. “Yeah, he’s calling for Elijah – let’s see if Elijah comes to him.” This Palm Sunday, I heard the incident differently. When Jesus called for God, the bystanders...

The Kiss, for me, has always been one of irony: Judas betrayed Jesus with a kiss. My reaction this Palm Sunday was different. This time, I saw the necessity of the kiss. Judas had to have a sign to identify Jesus because he couldn’t be picked out of the crowd. Jesus didn’t “look like” a rabbi. He wasn’t wearing “leader” clothes—no suit and tie...

Peter’s betrayal of Jesus has always seemed so predictable to me. Jesus just told you that you would betray him! Weren’t you listening? But this Palm Sunday, I saw Peter differently. Before, I’ve always seen Peter skulking in the courtyard, afraid of being recognized. But what if Peter were in the courtyard because he was trying to stay as close...

Most likely, you know that Barabbas, in contrast to Jesus, was a real criminal. I admit I must have conflated him with the two bandits who were crucified with Jesus, because only this Palm Sunday did I hear his actual crime. According to Mark, Barabbas was in prison with the rebels who committed murder during the insurrection. The insurrection,...

For fifty years, I’ve attended Palm Sunday services. Every service has featured a Passion Play. This Palm Sunday, thanks to the presentation co-produced by Virginia Ralph, I heard something different. Actually, I heard many things differently. I’ll share them with you this Holy Week, beginning with the anointing of Jesus. I’d always heard this...

The bamboo rises in the yard with the hump of a sea serpent. Angling the shovel, I break its spine. A neighbor planted the bamboo—on the property line. For the longest time I told myself she’d sunk a barrier around it. Surely no one would plant invasive, destructive bamboo on the property line without consulting the neighbor. The yards in Harbor...

I have been obsessing with the news on Trayvon Martin, watching every TV spot, reading every on-line post, shushing Tom so I can hear every radio interview. What I am watching, listening, waiting for? For someone to say it is impossible. Impossible in any state under any law in this country to pursue an unarmed young man, shoot him, and call...

Then there was the time when I was lying on the floor playing with Aubrey and Giselle the French Giraffe (whose real name was Sophie the French Giraffe but I didn’t know that at the time) and I kept using this horrible French/Mexican accent for the Giraffe which would have been okay (Aubrey is only nine months old) except I was there on the floor...

we don’t use the dishwasher we don’t use the clothes dryer we leave the windows open we drink tap water, we drink almond milk, we eat barley we build fires in the fireplace we keep a compost bucket on the kitchen counter we travel with a bonsai tree, Mr. Tree we hang out on Beale Street we let Tom be our everyday cook we say “runned,” as in “I...