It’s that time of the year again where we crucify Jesus Christ. We commit sin so many times in a year that Jesus symbolically has to be crucified by us. Not that we’re saved when Easter comes – we have sought salvation since the first Crucifixion – but every year, a few days of spiritual self-mortification often become excuses for beach trips and long vacations.
I dread Lent because it forces me to reflect on such a sustained, prolonged period; far longer than I could stand.
I put myself in the shoes of the many characters responsible for Jesus Christ being crucified. Like Peter, I deny. Like Judas, I betray. Like the people, I condemn. Like Pilate, I wash my hands off everything. I sin – the present tense being the condition and situation of man while he exists – and therefore every sin I commit is another welt made by the flail, another blow to the cicatrices of Christ, another barb in His crown of thorns.
At Lent, it seems that all of this is forgiven by going to Church, avoiding meat, and waving palm fronds on the last Sunday before Easter.
