Holy Week:
The journey from adulation to resurrection via the ugliness of betrayal, denial and death.
It starts with a ‘triumphal entry’,
Cries of ‘Hosanna in the highest!’ and a green carpet of palm fronds and cloaks,
Crowds singing the praises of a king.
We should have known something was awry by the arrival on a donkey, however.
No noble steed, no purple robes,
Just the quietness and humility of prophecy fulfilled.
A week of teaching, prayer, anointing and eating,
Crammed into just a few days,
With simmering resentment, naked hatred and bungling bluster from ignorant disciples
The backdrop to the tumultuous events that would change the world.
Jesus washing his disciples’ feet,
Underlining yet again the radical nature of a kingdom which didn’t measure up to the zealots’ idea of revolution.
He walks with steadfast purpose and anguish of heart towards the cross,
While his followers bicker and quarrel and fall asleep in the garden,
Naïve confidence soon scattered by the shock of betrayal from within and the presence of Roman soldiers.
Fleeing, running, bewildered and afraid,
They watch from afar,
Squirming in panicked fear as recognition dawns in the eyes of the servants,
Outright denial coupled with oaths, shattered by the crowing of the cockerel.
In the middle of this hustled chaos,
Jesus remains silent,
Dignified in the midst of ridicule and scorn.
Injustice screams from every trial,
But he remains silent,
The innocent lamb about to be sacrificed even as the Passover lambs are slaughtered.
This is what they all foreshadowed,
But none realise the significance of what is going on.
Another rabble-rouser about to get his comeuppance,
That’s all they saw.
Anguish, agony, abandonment
Form the backdrop of that Friday.
Mother and women watch in heartbroken silence.
How can this be happening?
Why isn’t God stepping in?
The cry of dereliction from the dying man’s lips echoes the misery of the hour,
Then the final words ‘It is finished’ and ‘Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit.’
Death has arrived.
It’s all over.
Except death leaves behind a plethora of jobs still to be done,
Anointing, burial, official paperwork to be filled in.
Joseph and Nicodemus sort that out,
The body is sealed in a tomb.
The women, loyal to the end, ponder how they can fulfil their last anointings with a stone blocking the tomb’s entrance,
The numb bewilderment that follows death swallowed up in necessary activity that leaves no comfort.
The misery of death forces us to pause here before moving on.
Lazarus was left days before resuscitation, but no one seems to have thought of miracles anymore.
The Miracle Maker was gone
And with him, hope and joy were also absent.
Then, into the dark of the early morning,
Light bursts forth.
Angels dazzling in their brightness bring news of an empty tomb,
The stone rolled away to display burial clothes but no body.
What was going on?
Where was the body?
What malign plan of the Romans was this, to rob their friend of dignity in death?
A risen Saviour, mistaken for a gardener, concludes this most bewildering of weeks,
And starts the next chapter all at the same time.
Jesus, no longer dead,
But alive, and alive forever more!
We see hope resurrected,
Mingling with ongoing confusion and bewilderment,
Finally giving way to joy that bubbles up and cannot be stilled.
Holy Week:
A reminder that beginnings don’t always determine endings,
That it’s not wise to close the book until the final chapter,
That the journey has its twists and turns, its heartaches and its joys,
But God is in them all,
God with us, Immanuel.
