A crescent Earth setting along the Moon’s limb on Monday.NASA via AFP – Getty Images
I, like millions of habitants on Earth, have been following the journey of the Artemis 2 crew, who yesterday flew past the moon. They not only broke the record of humans traveling the farthest away from Earth (252,760 miles (406,778 kilometers), but they also saw the far side of the moon, an accomplishment never before attained. I watched in absolute fascination the live stream from NASA as the four astronauts described in great detail what they saw with their own eyes.
I have come to admire those four individuals, while hearing their stories and the paths they walked in getting to this particular mission of space travel. Reid Wiseman (Commander) is a retired Navy captain from Baltimore, Maryland. He previously spent 165 days aboard the International Space Station (ISS) and completed two spacewalks. He lost his wife, Carroll to cancer in 2020 and raised his two daughters as a single dad. Christina Koch (Mission Specialist) is the first woman to be involved on a moon mission. She has a remarkable record of logging 168 days aboard the ISS and participating in the first all-female space walks. Victor Glover (Pilot) is the first Black astronaut to journey to the moon. He also logged 168 days on the ISS and completed four spacewalks. It is worthy of note that he brought his Bible with him on this mission and has been quoting scripture frequently. Jeremy Hansen (Mission Specialist, Canadian Space Agency) is the first non-U.S. astronaut to fly around the Moon. A former CF-18 fighter pilot, Hansen was selected as a CSA astronaut in 2009, waiting seventeen years to go on this his first spaceflight. (Crew Members and Roles)
Yesterday marked the mission milestone of the moon fly by, and there were many times I marveled at the images of the moon and the different descriptions each astronaut offered to clarify what they were seeing first hand. I teared up when Victor Glover sent a greeting to his wife, who was at Mission Control watching from the visitor gallery there, “Hey Babe, I love you from the moon.”
Perhaps the most poignant moment was when Jeremy Hansen described two newly discovered, unnamed craters and asked NASA if they could be named “Integrity”, after their spacecraft, and the second one to be named after Wiseman’s late wife, Carroll. If you haven’t watched that YouTube video of the crew hugging one another after Hansen’s request, I challenge you to watch it without tearing up.
In a world that seems to be on the brink of daily disasters, upsets, global challenges and heart break, this journey has somehow united the world in love. Glover, on Easter Sunday gave an impromptu message: “In all of this emptiness — this is a whole bunch of nothing, this thing we call the universe — you have this oasis, this beautiful place that we get to exist together,” he said of Earth. “I think, as we go into Easter Sunday, thinking about all the cultures all around the world, whether you celebrate it or not, whether you believe in God or not, this is an opportunity for us to remember where we are, who we are, and that we are the same thing, and that we’ve gotta get through this together.”
(In April 2019, we were encouraged as InScribe Writers Online, to write a blog article for Easter from a different point of view. For me, it became a reimagined journey to witness the final hours after Jesus’ betrayal as seen through the eyes of the Apostle John who witnessed all the events that led to Jesus’ death, burial and resurrection. I was humbled when my story was one of those selected for the anthology, Easter Stories and More.)
The Passion Through John’s Eyes by Lynn Dove
John looked out at the crowds of shouting people who had gathered along both sides of the road. Jerusalem was more crowded than usual at this time of year, with people amassed to celebrate the Passover. He was hidden in a doorway, shading his face in the folds of his prayer shawl. There in the shadows he kept silent watch as the Roman procession came closer into view. The last twenty-four hours had been spent following his beloved friend from trial to trial, always watching from a safe vantage point. Fear overwhelmed him, not only for himself, but for his friend.
He had been there the night they arrested Jesus.[1] He had been aroused forcefully from a dreamless sleep, initially uncertain what the noise and commotion around him was all about. Now fully awake and under the glow of torchlights, he saw Judas kiss Jesus on the cheek in greeting and then step aside to allow a Roman guard to grab hold of Jesus’ arm. Before John could react, another of his closest friends intervened by pulling out the knife he always carried to cut fishing line and netting, and cut the ear off of the guard trying to arrest Jesus. John recoiled in horror just remembering the blood and the brutality of the act that night. It had happened so quickly! In the aftermath, he had fixed his eyes angrily on Judas, furious by his betrayal of Jesus. Judas had jumped back just in time to avoid the knife attack. It would have served him right, he thought, and instantly regretted thinking it. “Forgive me, Lord,” John silently prayed as he now huddled in the shadows on the crowded street. “You warned us this would happen. I didn’t understand. Even when you touched the guard and healed his ear, you showed compassion, when all I thought about was revenge. Forgive me.”
As sweat beaded on his forehead, he peeked out just far enough to see the Roman soldiers, some on horseback, several others following behind on foot, whipping and cursing the three prisoners in their charge. John took note of two of the men, thieves he surmised, by the derogatory taunting and stone-throwing aimed at the two. A small wagon, pulled by a donkey carried the cross braces while the men walked dejectedly beside the wagon and ducked and railed against the crowd with uncommon bravado in the face of their inevitable death sentence. Following much more slowly behind them, John saw his friend.
Jesus was almost unrecognizable. They had beaten, scourged and brutalized him with unimaginable cruelty. Tattered, flayed skin, criss-crossed his slender frame, revealing muscle and tendon. Blood oozed and ran down his body in rivulets. The crowd suddenly grew silent, revolted by the misery and anguish they now saw in human form in front of them. The soldiers had spared him no quarter. Unlike the two men ahead, his heavy cross was not in the back of the donkey-pulled wagon. He dragged his cross upon his own shoulders despite the horrible wounds that the praetorian guards had inflicted on him.
He stumbled and dropped to his knees right in front of where John was hiding. John winced in empathy as a crown of thorns cut jagged grooves into Jesus’ temple. The crown, along with the seamless purple robe they had draped over him, had been yet another cruel attempt by his captors to mock the claim of Jesus being a “king”. The guards, now impatient with this delay, lashed him with leather whips. Some in the crowd, horrified by this, were now shouting, “Mercy! Have mercy on him!” Ignoring the yells, the guards continued their assault. With super human effort, Jesus adjusted the cross on his back and slowly rose to his full height, but could not seem to make his feet move forward. John, without thought now for his own safety, moved from his hiding place towards his friend to help him, but was held back by a soft tug on his robe from behind. Turning, he saw her face.
Mary, Jesus’ mother, pleaded with her eyes for John not to interfere. She held out her hands to him and with great compassion, John enfolded her in a soft embrace. She clung to him, his arms tightly wrapped around her slender form, and then she collapsed onto him weak-kneed and weeping with despair. John cradled her face to his chest, but she forced herself to look past him towards her son, who trudged past them now with grim determination. When Jesus stumbled and fell again, the cross landing heavily on top of him this time, John felt Mary’s body jolt forward but he wouldn’t release his grip on her.
Exasperated now, one of the guards caught sight of a giant of a man and pulled him forcibly out from the crowd and ordered him to carry the cross for Jesus the rest of the way up the hill to Golgotha. John, hugging Mary to his side, followed the sombre procession with the rest of the crowd, as they slowly made their way up the hill.
The sound of metal striking bone and wood resonated loudly as the guards drove the long spikes through the wrists and feet of the prisoners, securing their bodies to the crosses. John was numb, watching the crosses being raised, one on each side with Jesus in the middle. He watched in disgust as the guards took Jesus’ clothes and divided them into four shares, one for each of them, and cast lots for the seamless robe. John remembered one of David’s psalms, “They divided my clothes among them and cast lots for my garment.”[2] Scripture was being fulfilled right in front of him!
The crowd dispersed quickly once the gruesome spectacle of the execution sentences had been carried out. From previous experience, most people soon got bored of how long it took for prisoners to die on a cross. It was not long before John realized that he and Mary were amongst only a handful of others who remained at the foot of the cross. He glanced around and saw Jesus’ aunt, Mary the wife of Clopas and Mary Magdalene, all weeping mournfully together, with their eyes upturned towards the face of Jesus. John raised his own eyes and re-read the sign that was nailed to Jesus’s cross. Written in Aramaic, Latin and Greek, all three languages familiar to John, he remembered the heated exchange only hours before between Pilate, the Roman Governor, and the chief priests during Jesus’ trial. Pilate had finally succumbed to public pressure to execute Jesus but as a parting shot at the Jewish leadership had been adamant that a sign be nailed to the cross saying, ‘The King of the Jews’. The Jewish leaders had complained vehemently about the wording, but Pilate answered, “What I have written, I have written.”
John looked up into his friend’s face and Jesus looked directly at him. John shuddered involuntarily. Even in his dismal state, Jesus was still fully aware of his surroundings and of those who had gathered around him. Jesus painfully raised his head up so he could speak boldly. “Woman,” he called to his mother, “here is your son.” His eyes looked from Mary to John and then leveling a piercing gaze upon John said, “Here is your mother.” The intent was clear. John was now fully responsible for Jesus’ mother, Mary. As she leaned into him, he lightly put his arm around her shoulder. John nodded to indicate he would willingly carry out this last request for his friend. Mary would always have an honoured place in his home.
John barely noticed the passage of time there on the hill. Jesus conversed with the two men hanging on their crosses beside him, but John did not take note of the words they exchanged. The hours passed. There was little movement now from the three men. John leaned forward to hear laboured breathing from one of the thieves, and then was startled when Jesus suddenly cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Someone murmured, “God has turned his back on him.” John knew better. Jesus was quoting that same psalm of David that had been brought to John’s mind when the guards were casting lots for Jesus’ clothing. Weak from his torture on the cross, Jesus only had the strength to speak the first line but John had memorized the entire psalm too. He had sung it as a child in synagogue. It was so familiar to him and yet he never quite understood what the words meant until that very moment. He softly whispered the last line, “They will proclaim his righteousness, declaring to a people yet unborn: He has done it!”[3]
Finally, as the afternoon wore on, Jesus muttered, “I am thirsty.” So a Roman guard soaked a sponge on a stalk of hyssop plant with wine vinegar and lifted it to Jesus’ lips. When he had received the drink, and knowing that everything had now been accomplished so that Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, “It is finished.” With that, Jesus bowed his head and gave up his spirit.
John took hold of Mary then, clutching her to himself as they wept together in anguish. The sky grew dark and the earth trembled. They held each other, oblivious to the world around them. Still grief stricken, John reluctantly let go of her. Mary, unhindered now, boldly approached the cross and reached up to touch the calloused feet of her beloved son. John followed and warily laid his fingers upon the blood encrusted toes of his dear friend. With an impact he had never felt before, John felt a jolt go through his entire body. The sensation nearly brought him to his knees. Unmistakable, distinctive words formulated themselves in his mind, so clearly he thought he could hear Jesus’ voice speak them! He didn’t understand their meaning at first, but he somehow knew that their explanation and intent would be revealed to him in time. John gazed up into the peaceful face of Jesus, and the words continued to manifest themselves in his heart and mind. He would never forget them.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.”[4]
[1] This narrative is primarily based on the Biblical text from the Gospel of John 19:1-30.
It’s that time again. The chore that for years has filled me with dread and exultation at the same time…Spring Cleaning. I dread doing it because the older I get the longer it takes me, and it just seems to be more and more difficult each year. It’s not the size of the task that’s more daunting, it’s just that I am more prone to procrastination now, and then I feel overwhelmed especially when I seem to be the only contributor to the cause. My sweet husband offers to help, but I’m more fastidious in this season of life. I like to have things done “just so”. So he retreats safely to his shop, his domain, while I putter inside, quietly lamenting my plight, but somehow happier cleaning on my own. My kids and perhaps my grandbabies may call me “fussy”, but honestly I can live with that title.
I suppose I’m not nearly as motivated as I once was when I was a young Mom and I felt it was a duty done for my family’s good more than mine. I mean, for health reasons it’s probably a necessary thing to thoroughly clean the house and once it’s over and done with I am very satisfied with the results. However, the satisfaction is always short-lived. Living in dusty, windy Alberta, house cleaning is a never ending exercise in futility. Truly someone needs to invent a once and done gadget that will rid my house of these pesky dust bunnies that have become Easter décor in my home this year.
I don’t mean to be a complainer, I know the Scriptures say to be “joyful in all things”, but I never thought that when I said, “I do” forty-seven years ago, that I’d be doing some of the things I’m doing now in perpetuity. I’m a relatively intelligent woman, or so that Masters Degree on the wall indicates, but I have a hard time finding much mental stimulation scrubbing toilet bowls and shooing dust bunnies from under the bed.
I remember lamenting about Spring Cleaning when I was a young Mom. I was blessed with three very creative children and during their preschool years I was a stay-at-home Mom. I loved it. I loved interacting with them all day long, but it was the cleaning up after them that was challenging. I would just start the tidying on one side of the house only to discover they’d dismantled my efforts on the other side. I’ve learned now when the Grands come to visit to confine them better in a designated play area. That way the creative mess stays more or less in one general area, and my adult children have taught their children to clean up after themselves before they go home to make it easier on Grandma. It befuddles me how they are so considerate of me now than when they were children. I guess age matters.
Then there is the man I married. Bless him. He’s had a system for sorting his socks since we were newlyweds. He’s got one pair of socks that he wears to church/work, one pair he wears to the gym, and one pair he wears in the yard or shop. For years they were sorted beside the bed on the floor. I couldn’t move them or else his whole system would have become sock chaos and I would be left with this disgruntled sockless man who would accuse me of sock sabotage! In our empty nesting years, we have compromised. Now the socks are draped over a chair along with the three outfits he rotates through during the week. At the end of the week, I throw the whole lot into the laundry and the cycle begins again. At least they’re not on the floor!
I had to laugh when the Christmas wish lists were posted for all my family members and my daughters and daughter-in-love, declared that the kids did not need more toys, they needed socks! As my son said, his boys wear the same pair of socks until they literally fall off their feet in disgust. I did notice the other day that all four of the boys had mismatched socks. Rather than be concerned, it has become a fashion statement.
But I digress…
I see the annual Spring Cleaning ritual as just an extension of normal, every day housecleaning but with more frenzy. The name kind of makes me think that just because it has such a bright and cheery name, I will take to it more agreeably. It’s like the old adage, ‘a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down’. It’s still medicine, it still tastes bad. Spring Cleaning is just cleaning, plain and simple, only more of it, to be done in less time, and with a lot less help.
I don’t know what it is, but just thinking about Spring Cleaning, has elicited an inordinate amount of random videos to pop up on my iPhone of people cleaning their homes. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact my phone reads my thoughts, or the fact these people really seem to enjoy cleaning their homes! I like the result, not the process. So, I decided this year to get a jump-start on my Spring Cleaning, doing one task at a time,… rest, recover, and then repeat over several weeks. I tackled my refrigerator a few weeks ago. Let’s just say it was a long, arduous undertaking, with lots of unlabeled Tupperware, wilted produce, and several overdue expiry dates. I can only liken the task to an archeological dig in there. It wasn’t pleasant.
Still, I try to accomplish something each day. I’ve washed windows, gotten most of the grandbaby handprints off of walls and mirrors. I have organized my kitchen, my storage room, cleaned, sorted, dusted, vacuumed and mopped. I decided to clean out all our closets, and cupboards. I was thorough and brutal with purging things that no longer brought me “joy”. Taking a car load of stuff to donate to charity brought me great joy!
Lynn Dove's Journey Thoughts 
