“..for this I was born, for this I have come into the world”  & “this” is not the pain & dark of the night; “this” is not the anguished prayers in the garden or the pointless betrayal of friends. “this” is the sunshine & the morning; the fire flash of sun on polished bronze helmets, the restless pigeons rising against the grey stone & blue sky; the elegant carriage of the young woman with a water vessel on her head; “this” this is all joy & grace & morning. As he is pushed beyond the shelter of the doorway, he feels a little breeze & although he knows it cannot be true, because he is in the fetid, overcrowded city, miles south of Capernaum, he thinks he can smell the warm grass & the heaved waves of spring flowers high on the hills above the Lake. He cannot help smiling at the pure delight of it; for the sweetness of those years of laughter & freedom. Joy is the fortress, the city of God..joy, & laughter & wine & song; joy is the house built on rock. The rest hardly mattered. Freedom mattered; freedom & love & laughter.
They had called them ”the spaces in between” they would be somewhere working, preaching, healing & talking, talking, talking;  3 days later they would be somewhere else working, preaching healing & talking, talking, talking. And in between were “the spaces in between”; what filled the spaces?..High skies, as blue as heaven, with soft bands of mist on the lake below at dawn & dusk. The vast flocks of birds going determinedly south before the autumn rains & eagerly north after the spring rains, filling the air with tremulous energy a throbbing beat. The long golden sweep of the high hill country..gaudy with flowers as the sun strengthened, & wide, tanned gold through the dry summer. Walking all day, & singing as they walked; singing the old songs in their own country. And afternoons when they would come to small leaping streams & splash & play like children. Huge stars at night, when they gathered round a little laughing fire & talked & talked & talked. Freedom & hope make love & laughter. Love & laughter create freedom & hope. In love they forgive each other;  in laughter they begin to forgive themselves. This is the Kingdom, this is the sheepfold, & the well which will not run dry. Here, now, louder than the clash of arms & the stamping of well trained military feet, he hears & smiles at the high trill of girlish laughter when Mary of Magdala pulls off her headscarf, shakes out that extraordinary copper-coloured hair & laughs at herself for thinking she had to take to selling what could be given in freedom; & forgiving the men who abused her because she has forgiven herself. And other deeper heartaches & sins & follies, & limitations & pains, muttered in the dark; heard with tenderness, with recognition & then with love acceptance & laughter.
The spaces in between were the places where freedom grew, as it had grown for their ancestors in the desert; freedom & hope & strength..& laughter. He pauses; he ignores the sharp pain of the iron collar against his bruised neck. Never too late to learn he thinks wryly. It was the laughter that had undone them in the end. He knows that now. Prophets & preachers, even healers, were meant to be solemn & gloomy; doom-laden, accusatory; not singing & dancing. They had laughed too much, too loudly & with too little respect. It was baffling to him suddenly that people chose misery; liked misery, preferred misery to responsibility; loved to feel guilty but refused to feel forgiven. Refused to be free. Like their ancestors in the desert. He feels sad himself now; it is all a waste. Grab the chance, he wants to tell them, take a risk; but they will not. John came to them fasting, & they said he was mad; he came to them eating & drinking & laughing, & they said he was debauched. What tight bottomed, middle of the road saviour do they want, if they want one neither fierce nor laughing?”                                
                “..my friend, do what you are here for..”..will you risk pulling off your headscarf, letting your hair down & enjoy this in between space twixt Palm Sunday & the Last Supper? ..to risk jettisoning misery & learning to smile..a smile..& a cry..a shout to your heart & from your heart.. “freedom!”..                                                                 [Palm Sunday Yr C Lk 22;14-23;56]