Tonight, and the next few days, affect me physically.
It starts at the Mass of the Lord's Supper (which I will miss this year because of travel), when I try to wrap my head around the paradox of the Son of God washing the feet of men, men who would betray him hours later, and offering up his body for all of us who would follow -- both in following Christ and in betraying him.
I fail in understanding much, but my heart burns in my chest and my mind buzzes with wonder, and I hope this is a sign my feeble little intellect is getting something from all of this. My soul feels something between gratitude and shock, because she is so unworthy of what is being undertaken.
The last few years, I have found myself sitting or lying awake late into the night, into Friday morning, staring at the clock and thinking, "Now? Right about now, I think," imagining myself in Peter's place when they came for Jesus -- or in Judas's place.
What would I have done?