The perfect age

Did you see that survey? The question was at what age are you happiest? The answer was 33, according to Friends Reunited, a U.K. website. It's the age when we seem to have it the most together, when things are just about as right as they can get, when we can squeeze the most out of life.

Despite the fact I can barely remember 33, I couldn't help but notice that age is the one Jesus was reportedly (can't help but use that word though I'm no longer a journalist) crucified.

We tend to forget that Jesus was at an age that most of us would deem to be the perfect one, not too young so that we know nothing, but not too old so that we start that slow (but getting quicker by the day) crawl toward senior-itis.

Thirty-three. I was that age when my youngest daughter was born. It was  grand time. I was a deputy sports editor at my home state's largest newspaper. I had the world by the horns, as they say. Never once did I think about my being the same age as my Lord was when the world decided it would kill him.

Matthew 26:21 reads, "As they were eating he said, "I assure you that one of you will betray me."

The other day I read that the U.S. Army, I believe, held a concert for those who don't believe in God. Seems they wanted to be fair to all those who don't believe. Imagine that. A concert for non-believers. I thought that was taken care of by every concert they held. But I digress.

My point is simple: We betray our Lord, our young, wonderful, caring, loving Lord who chose to die at the perfect age after the perfect life every time we don't do as he would have us do. It's that simple. He died at the age when most would be starting their own little perfect, or so they thought, lives.

He chose to. He allowed it. He did everything but cause it.

Why? Because he loves even those who betray him. Simply put, that's why this week is so special. Clearly it is almost completely symbolic, but still, it is about showing him how much we care. You don't have to be 33 to understand.