“33 And when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. 34 And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” 35 And some of the bystanders hearing it said, “Behold, he is calling Elijah.” 36 And someone ran and filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a reed and gave it to him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down.” 37 And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last. 38 And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. 39 And when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was the Son of God!” 40 There were also women looking on from a distance, among whom were Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome. 41 When he was in Galilee, they followed him and ministered to him, and there were also many other women who came up with him to Jerusalem.” (Mark 15:33-41 ESV)

Did any of it mean anything? The forward position, the life moment-to-moment, we have a Savior King who trod the solitary personal wartime walk to His Cross. What thoughts may come, the answers to many-a life question that bubble up into waking thoughts, these are a Nirvana or Event Horizon, a fact that the books could not contain “all the good works” the Spirit, Christ’s alter-ego, had done (John 21:25).

If any of it meant anything, well it punctures and takes to its own Cross, any pride or semblance of rational planning, execution, elocution, composure: we live and we do battle, and we die, inchoate and with dreamy comings-and-goings of say a certain friend long kept on the back corner of the mind’s shelves. It takes to its own Cross the desire—and a right desire at that—to continue to give our all, so much left to contribute, a lifetime, an education, a bonkers school-of-hard-knocks backdrop, a friends network, a circle of influence. All these things, and today your soul is asked of you. Today, in the forward position, strangely heroic as seen by our Calm, but alternately willing to die and scrambling for a few more moments of blissful, elysium thought. Because it is Service to think, to cogitate, to be those conjoined physics particles, at a distance but conjoined: we pray through and are carried through the imaginative counterpoint to the trials and hopes and tribulations of our friends.

We pray through and are carried through the hopes and prayers for strangers, as well, all systems Go but halting, tomorrow-level of prayer, One Day… all things shall indeed be in concert and ballad, in lockstep and in Service… to a safer Tomorrow. To a Tomorrow bled for and Died for. To a Tomorrow that brings a blanket of good cheer, even at that forward position, the observatory station, the crow’s nest and mild existential angst or pride: see where I was positioned! See my good fortune, or is it my bad dealing? Was it fortune or error that so led us to our middling Sacrifices that in and of themselves… what if they were a miscalculation, not even useful to the war Effort? Why?

The Christian’s reality then is of a strange all-systems-go around carrying the good wood of the Cross across a terrain of mockers and bystanders who as for themselves are still milking and plugged into the societal fabric and the societal storyline. They gawk. They murmur a blessing. They thank their lucky stars it ain’t them going to Golgotha. But to Christ, to the Sin-Bearer, the entire world is flashing before His eyes. His Sacrifice, it is indeed at the Master’s behest, but is it? Where, after all, is the proof in the pudding? That elysium shall follow? That good ripples shall emanate? Of good deeds and healthsome spirit? Of friendly coming-alongside and banter? Of sacrifices… is it worth my or our lives, this one deed done? Utterance made? Cross borne? And if so, will we be the lightness of being, the airy comport and Presence, of a History told through the lens of Sacrifice and Duty and Gifting? That these many died a hero’s death, and because they had some early Vision borne out in later Service. While all the world was eeking out a subsistence, either dutiful or lazy, but in no wise quite Heroic… until we see the heroic in everyday decisions.