Holy Week

It’s Holy Week, that strange and storied eight days, from Sunday to Sunday, beginning with a “triumphal entry” into the city of cities, a city rife with rumors and rebellion, under the iron fist of Rome and a local leadership bound and determined to maintain peace. The crowds roar their approval, with palm branches and cloaks laid down before the procession, the entry of Jesus and his disciples, from the Mount of Olives, on a donkey, rather than a steed of war - an image of hope and deliverance.

What was the crowd thinking?

Many things, I’m sure, but caught up in the moment of those days, that week, a time fraught with so much hope and so many dreams, the crowd welcomed Jesus. He had a reputation for tweaking proud noses, and irritating the righteous. The crowds loved that sort of thing.

But it didn’t take for the crowd to crow a different tune a few days later. Oh how fickle the crowds can be. Fame so fleeting, and then it’s gone. Another race, another bet.

The officials consider what needs to be done, and Judas conspires with them, for his thirty-dirty-pieces of silver, and what was he thinking?

With a kiss, just to make sure the police get the right man, Judas betrays him. Jesus is led away, beaten and bloodied, presented to Pilate, then to Herod, and then back to Pilate - a show of law and order, but a complete and total moral failure. Power always has trouble with truth … power understands power, but truth is another matter. Finally, the roaring crowds are given a choice: shall it be Jesus or perhaps Barabbas; a prophet or a rebel?

The story ends badly, at least for Jesus. He’s led to a cross, a Roman execution, in a most public place, to let the world know who’s in charge and who calls the shots.

Jesus is crucified, dead, and buried.

Of Barabbas, we know nothing.

Of Pilate? Well, it didn’t end well for him either. Rome wasn’t happy, and so he’s invited to an early retirement.

Holy Week - when the darkest of motives are exposed, when God’s presence in our world is utterly and completely rejected by the crowds, by the powers, by just about everyone.

It seems that one of the two rebels crucified with Jesus had some regard for him. And the women at the foot of the cross, too. And then Jesus is dead, and just to make sure, a spear is driven into his gut by one of the soldiers; was it the one who was struck by it all? Soldiers doing their job, but not always happy

about it.

Jesus is tucked away … hurriedly … in a borrowed tomb … the disciples slink away to gather their thoughts and plan the next move, but mostly to hide from the growing threat of retaliation against them. And that was that.

But we shall meet them again, in the next chapter. But for now, we have to wait. That’s part of the strangeness of Holy Week. Nothing is entirely clear; it’s a time of fog and fatigue, disappointment and despair … one of those times when we cling to one another, even as words fail us. We cry, and we cry out.

Until then …

Holy Week Musings

Weekend musings ...

I've never understood why this day is called "Good Friday" ... it should be called "Dark Day" ... or "Hell's Victory," or "When We Killed Jesus because We Didn't Like What He Said or Did."

Everything that goes wrong in our time, went wrong in the last week of Jesus' life ... using imagery from "Something Wicked This Way Comes," the Carnival won ... or from "Ready Player One," the corporate machine won ... in both of these provocative stories, it's the children who are at risk.

I suppose we'd rather not be confronted with all of this, so we dress it up a wee bit, make it a little more palatable ... we call it "Good Friday," and hurry over it, and hurry through Waiting Saturday, the time in between (when no one was certain of anything), to get to the bunnies and bonnets. Whoopee Ding Dang, ain't it grand!

We don't have to live in a state of constant apology for being snotty, snooty, and selfish, but we do need to spend some time pondering how clever we are with avoiding the truth ... so that we can keep on being snotty, snooty and selfish and not feel so bad.

We need to stand at the foot of the cross, with some realization of the the dark materials in our times, and in our lives, and say, "Yup, I did this, too. I waved my palm branches on parade day, but, in the end, Barabas seemed the better deal when I weighed it all up."

Tomorrow, Holy Saturday, we wait ... because we're simply not sure what God will do with all the junk.

As for Sunday, well, God willing, we'll see ya' there ... but let's remember, it was the Resurrection that turned a whole lot of the world upside down, and folks weren't too happy about that, either, and when we see the Stone rolled away, the Stone of political power, the Stone of religious stubbornness, the Stone of wealth, the Stone of the status quo, the Stone of pride and bigotry, the Stone I use to control things and keep things in hand, manageable and tame ... my Stone, your Stone, and should God mess with our Stone, we all get a little nervous.

The challenge for us is to be mindful ... serious when needed (much of the time) and playful, too (when elements of joy and hope and peace seem so real, so close at hand, we can touch them) ... we keep on keepin' on, because what else should we do?

I believe, but LORD help my unbelief ... on this Dark Day, and with Tomorrow's uneasy waiting, and the Light of a Tomb that holds the energy of both death and life, life anew, and God said, "Let there be light."

And so it goes ... in this world of cabbages and kings ...

Holy Saturday

It's Holy Saturday ... I read a book about this some years back.
Don't remember much of it, but the idea of waiting.
What will happen, if anything?

For the disciples, it was all over.
It was finished.
I mean, finished.

No one expected anything but death.
Death is like that, I guess.
It's the final word for us.

It's the final word for Jesus, too.
Tomb.
Stone.

I think It's Holy Saturday only in retrospect.
So the in-between time is hallowed.

Death holds on.
Even death is given its day.
For awhile, so the story goes.

But that's tomorrow.
Today, I'll wait.

A Holy Week Blessing

May you have,

Eyes to see the sun that shines upon your pathway, 

Ears to hear the voices of your friends and neighbors,  

A voice to say with hope and fortitude, "Jesus my Lord", 

Hands ready to help, and 

Feet eager to follow Jesus.

Psalm 147

1 Praise the LORD!
How good it is to sing praises to our God;
for he is gracious, and a song of praise is fitting.
2 The LORD builds up Jerusalem;
he gathers the outcasts of Israel.
3 He heals the brokenhearted,
and binds up their wounds.
4 He determines the number of the stars;
he gives to all of them their names.
5 Great is our Lord, and abundant in power;
his understanding is beyond measure.
6 The LORD lifts up the downtrodden;
he casts the wicked to the ground.
7 Sing to the LORD with thanksgiving;
make melody to our God on the lyre.
8 He covers the heavens with clouds,
prepares rain for the earth,
makes grass grow on the hills.
9 He gives to the animals their food,
and to the young ravens when they cry.
10 His delight is not in the strength of the horse,
nor his pleasure in the speed of a runner;
11 but the LORD takes pleasure in those who fear him,
in those who hope in his steadfast love.


Fill your heart and mind with powerful thoughts of praise and thanksgiving, for the Evil One is determined to flood your spirit with complaint and disappointment. If there is anything good and beautiful, think on such things, and then look about you with eyes cleansed by faith, to behold the wonder and the joy of life - the greening of the trees, the budding of flowers, the face of a child with an ice cream cone, the sound of a rumbling V8 (if ya' like cars) and the simple wonder of a cloud in the sky.

Holy Week, 2008