Me in '23

Passion play

As I’m sitting here in seat 11-B ready to take off, this blog post is practically writing itself in my head.

Honestly, I was disappointed that we’d be on a flight to Fort Lauderdale at 30,000 feet on this historic Tuesday as the disgraced, twice-impeached former U.S. president turned himself in at a lower Manhattan courthouse after his indictment by a New York grand jury.

But then I realized that in addition to snacks and free drinks in Comfort-Plus, Delta Air Lines offers some “live TV” shows on their in-flight monitors. I found CNN and MSNBC, and plugged in my old analog earbuds.

It’s show time, folks. The Tuesday we’ve all been waiting for. Our excitement builds as we await a glimpse of a criminal who orchestrated his own perp walk. At last, he surrenders.

At about 2:30 p.m., he emerged from booking behind two smoked-glass doors after being processed in lower Manhattan. No mug shot, but he was fingerprinted. I guess it’s all digital now, so they don’t use messy ink anymore. I later read that a security guard refused to hold the door open for him.

With head down, eyes averted and shoulders slumped in shame, he walked over to New York’s criminal courthouse.

Historic. Shocking. And an extremely sad day.

Dressed in a blue suit, white shirt and trademark overly long red tie, this 76-year-old man/child appeared somber. But there was that familiar pouty mouth on his aging orange face. Frankly, he looked terrified.

I wasn’t expecting that.

I expected him to act as savior to his flock, the MAGA followers. I expected smug and defiant.

That came earlier when he sent out a fundraising email asking supporters for money and promising a T-shirt bearing a fake mug shot with any donation over $47. (Forty-seven as in 47thpresident in 2024, get it?)

Yet another fundraising opportunity for America’s Master of the Grift.

Then came the arraignment. Over the course of 57 minutes, charges were read, and he pleaded not guilty to 34 felony counts in connection with a hush-money payment to an adult film star before the 2016 election. And that was that.

Because I’m a lapsed Catholic who feels particularly guilty this time of year (even more than Christmas), I can’t help but connect all of this melodrama to something religious: Holy Week.

Today is Holy Tuesday. Granted, Holy Tuesday is one of the least important days of Holy Week.

Not this year.

I’m pleased to say that I recall more than I expected from my Saturday morning catechism classes as a youngster. My mom drove but we didn’t have a second car, so we would walk up to St. Juliana Catholic Church on Detroit’s east side. Even in rain and snow.

Without googling, I still remember the significance of Holy Week:

  • It’s the most important week of the year in the Christian calendar.
  • Beginning with Palm Sunday, which was April 2, it ends with Holy Saturday, on April 8.
  • It follows the narrative of the Passion of Christ, from his triumphal entry into Jerusalem through the Last Supper, to his betrayal, arrest, crucifixion and death.
  • Christ’s Resurrection follows on Easter, which falls on April 9 this year.

I inadvertently discovered that the word Passion comes from the Latin word for suffering. For some reason, the St. Juliana nuns never mentioned that.

The Passion of Christ themes they focused on were injustice, doubt, fear, pain and death. About ordinary human beings seeking redemption. And about victory through the Resurrection.

To be clear, I am not comparing that pouty-faced guy in a custom suit to Christ. He isn’t being persecuted. He’s being prosecuted because he broke the law and got caught. Period. Full stop.

No matter who hears your nightly prayers, the fact is that America’s 45th president is a criminal defendant.

And now it’s time for penance. Let’s start with confession, shall we?

Retired print journalist and blogger.❤️🐾

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