Maundy Thursday

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Hematidrosis (also called hematohidrosis) is a very rare condition in which a human being sweats blood. It may occur when a person is suffering extreme levels of stress, for example, facing his or her own death. Several historical references have been described; notably by Leonardo da Vinci: describing a soldier who sweated blood before battle, men unexpectedly given a death sentence, as well as descriptions in the Bible, that Jesus experienced hematidrosis when he was praying in the garden of Gethsemane (Luke 22:44).

Cutaneous hemorrhage
According to Dr. Frederick Zugibe (former Chief Medical Examiner of Rockland County, New York) it is well-known, and there have been many cases of it. The clinical term is hematohidrosis. “Around the sweat glands, there are multiple blood vessels in a net-like form. Under the pressure of great stress the vessels constrict. Then as the anxiety passes the blood vessels dilate to the point of rupture. The blood goes into the sweat glands. As the sweat glands are producing a lot of sweat, it pushes the blood to the surface – coming out as droplets of blood mixed with sweat.”

In a lecture, Dr. Zugibe stated: “The severe mental anxiety…activated the sympathetic nervous system to invoke the stress-fight or flight reaction to such a degree causing hemorrhage of the vessels supplying the sweat glands into the ducts of the sweat glands and extruding out onto the skin. While hematidrosis has been reported to occur from other rare medical entities, the presence of profound fear accounted for a significant number of reported cases including six cases in men condemned to execution, a case occurring during the London blitz, a case involving a fear of being raped, a fear of a storm while sailing, etc. The effects on the body is that of weakness and mild to moderate dehydration from the severe anxiety and both the blood and sweat loss.”

Another effect is that the skin becomes extremely tender and fragile, so that any pressure or damage to the skin is more than ordinarily painful.

my roommate Desiree

I’ve been blessed to live with Desiree for five years this May.  She is incredible: a woman of deep faith in Christ who sincerely loves people.  As an obsessive-compulsive, I have been incredibly grateful to have a roommate like Des, who reminds me of the truth and who lifts me up in prayer.

Des is a math teacher, and it is so refreshing to see someone who is enraptured with mathematics and who intensely cares about the kids she teaches.  Des is a thinker, a student of the Word, but she can also be crazy-silly.  When, like me, you have lived with someone you adore for this long, you begin to think so similarly that you have inside jokes of which you can barely remember the origin.  I love that.

Here is how Desiree and I ended up living together.  I love telling this story.

Des was the leader of a club at the college where I recruit, and I was the advisor, so we ended up meeting from time to time to talk about “club business”– which usually meant a couple minutes on club business and then catching up the rest of the time.  After I’d known her for a couple years, my living situation was about to change, and I was intrigued when I realized that I wanted her to be my roommate.

I didn’t know what she would think of this idea.  After all, she was a college student, and I was on staff at her school.  I decided I’d sneakily broach the subject during our next coffee date.

Des walked into Caribou that night, and the first thing she said was, “I’m living with you next year.”

Yes, you read that right.

“Funny you should say that …” I said.  The rest is history.

Thank you, God.

Photo credit: Ryan Murray

Genius by Billy Collins

This poem is strongly influencing the story I am writing right now.

Genius by Billy Collins

was what they called you in high school
if you tripped on a shoelace in the hall
and all your books went flying.

Or if you walked into an open locker door
you would be known as Einstein,
who imagined riding a streetcar into infinity.

Later, genius became someone
who could take a sliver of chalk and square pi
a hundred places out beyond the decimal point,

or someone painting on his back on a scaffold,
or a man drawing a waterwheel in a margin,
or spinning out a little night music.

But earlier this week on a wooded path,
I thought the swans afloat on the reservoir
were the true geniuses,

the ones who had figured out how to fly,
how to be both beautiful and brutal,
and how to mate for life.

Twenty-four geniuses in all,
for I numbered them as Yeats had done,
deployed upon the calm, crystalline surface–

forty-eight if we count their still reflections,
or an even fifty if you want to toss in me
and the dog running up ahead,

who were smart enough to be out
that morning–she sniffing the ground,
me with my head up in the light morning breeze.

Holy Week

I love Easter.  I mean, I really love it.  I love Easter the way most people love Christmas.

Palm Sunday.  Gethsemane.  The cross.  Blood, blood, blood, and the sin of the world on His shoulders.

And then Easter morning comes, and HE LIVES, and EVERYTHING IS DIFFERENT NOW.  Such a mighty victory– one that turned the ugliest thing (the cross) into this incredibly BEAUTIFUL picture of salvation.

Here is something I have wondered.  You know how sick you feel over the weekend when you know you have a terrible Monday ahead of you– maybe it’s a presentation, or you have to have a hard conversation with a co-worker, or you have to face your poor sales figures once again?  The anticipation is terrible, gut-wrenching, so ugly.

My question is this: how could Jesus know about the cross from all eternity and survive such a weight of knowledge?  I imagine it was almost a relief when Judas finally stepped into the garden and kissed His cheek.

I am so proud of my God.