A meditation for Maundy Thursday

When Bloody Isn’t Bad

I gave blood once.

I didn’t watch when they put in the needle.

I would have fainted.

I fainted anyway.

I tasted my blood once when I was a kid.

Feel off my bike and bonked my head.

Thought I ought at least to get to see what all the fuss was about.

Pretty ordinary, but then again, I didn’t know what to expect.

I have a deathly fear of paper cuts..

but they’re better if they bleed..

then at least there’s a product.

You get some sympathy.

Had back surgery when I was a teenager..

lots of blood, they told me.

So much drainage after the surgery

that they had to strap a Kotex to me.

Pretty embarrassing. But interesting.

I don’t bleed once a month.

I don’t have a uterus.

So I only bleed if I’m a klutz,

or if the phlebotomist checks my cholesterol.

A bloody mess.

Blood red.

Gave blood.

Needed blood.

Shortage of blood.

Blood types.

The blood of patriots and tyrants.

In cold blood.

Flesh and blood.

Most noble blood.

Now could I drink hot blood.

Blood, toil, tears and sweat.

Getting blood out of a turnip.

There is a fountain filled with blood.

There’s power in the blood.

The blood of Christ, shed for you.

This is the blood of the new covenant.

The woodcut of the old German master,

it showed him nailed to the cross.

Angels held chalices under east wrist

to catch the blood.

Another angel floated under his feet.

The blood of Christ, shed for me.

I hate that he had to suffer.

I love him because he chose to suffer.

I hate God for making him suffer.

I love God for allowing him to choose.

I don’t know where to be.

I wish it weren’t love/hate on this night of all nights.

I wish I could get easy in my skin.

Holy Week drains the blood out of my faith’s face..

or maybe it puts the blood in my face.

Or maybe it does both.

And maybe that’s why I’m here.

When he reached the place, he said to them, “Pray that you many not come into the time of trial.” Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, “Abba, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet not my will but yours be done.” Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength. In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling on the ground.

(Luke 22: 40-44)

So what did the angel give you the strength to do, Jesus?

To die?

I don’t know if I like an angel who give you the strength to endure

and then holds the cup under your bleeding hands.

What is the power in this blood?

For me, just this...

The power of the blood in the chalice

is that it is the blood of someone who trusted his way through feat.

It is the blood of someone who took no short cuts on faith’s journey.

It is the blood of someone for whom every second mattered,

for whom every moment was focused.

It is the blood of a fool.

And this fool shows up on the road to Emmaus.

And like the fool that he is, he asks,

“What’s going on?,”

as if he doesn’t know.

And this fool shows up on the beach

and tells the fisher folk to try the other side of the boat.

And like fools, they do.

I don’t know how the power gets into the blood,

and I don’t know how it gets into me.

You have to be a fool to know that.

© 2003 John Thornburg