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Suffering Psalm 31  We are boarding the bus, on the way to our Volunteers in Mission work project in Guatemala, and there she is. An old, wrinkled woman, severely crippled, ragged and dirty clothing, a smile that reveals her two or three discolored and crooked teeth. She can’t speak, can only make some grunting sound as she looks me straight in the eye, holding out her hand. I smile at her and give her some money. What else can I do or say? All I know to do is to cry. I still cry, as I write this.  It’s very early in the morning, and I’m standing at the gate to our little hotel in Guatemala. Chichicastenango is a beehive of human activity on this market day. People are setting up little booths, carrying in crates of eggs, cabbages, tomatoes – all strapped to their backs; women carrying live chickens and turkeys, vendors squeezing juice from fresh oranges, families sitting on the sidewalk eating breakfast. I’m fascinated and enthralled, and then my eye catches this – man? He has no legs at all, walks on his hands on the rugged cobblestones, and his upper torso drags along, oft scraping the street. Nobody looks at him, talks to him. He just passes by, and I just stand there. What else can I do or say? All I know to do is to cry. I still cry, as I write this.  There’s a magnificent ceremony at the great Cathedral in Guatemala City. A large procession, complete with decorated floats, of dazzling young Mayan girls all dressed in white, colorful flowers woven into their shiny black hair. Perhaps it’s a confirmation ritual. And there, in the entrance to the cathedral, right in the midst of this Christian celebration of life and of faith - there is this man, a grotesque creature. His body is twisted, one leg crippled, with rags on his body and shoeless feet which are black from dirt. Everyone turns away from him as he contorts, grunts, and literally foams at the mouth. Nobody looks at, speaks to, or comes close to touching him. I don’t either. What else can I do or say? All I know to do is to cry. I still cry, as I write this. I am the scorn of all my adversaries, a horror to my acquaintances; those who see me in the street flee from me. I have passed out of mind like one who is dead; I have become like a broken vessel. (Psalm 31:11-12, NRSV) Palms of joy and victory are spread on the streets, yet pain and suffering abound. Hosannas are shouted while whips, thorns and crosses are being prepared. Suffering is hard to look at, and may overwhelm us. The suffering of Jesus is hard to consider, and we don’t quite know what to say. Sometimes, all we know to do is to cry. - Pastor Piet - April 1, 2007: Palm Sunday (adapted from my meditation of April 4, 2004)