I feel like I couldn’t possibly, but I must.
It’s been such an endless stretch of soul-wearying days, who can look forward to more heaviness?
We are a few days away from the beginning of Holy Week, and I’d like to skip ahead to Easter, thank you very much.
Typically during Holy Week, the Church dives deep into her defining story–the Passover with the disciples, the garden of Gethsemane, the betrayal and arrest of Jesus, the trial, the torture, the crucifixion, the death of Christ.
Since this time last year, the pandemic has utterly rearranged our lives. We’ve spent much time isolated from vital community, and we have lost people that we love. We endured an ugly political season. Those of us in Texas got shut in during a snowpocalpyse for 10 days, many without power/water/groceries/etc, and are still picking up the pieces. And now twice in the last week, people have walked into public places and killed a bunch of people. In my conversations as a pastor, I’ve talked to several people who ask, “how do I know if I’m depressed?”
Our hearts are heavy. We are weary. I am weary.
And while Holy Week is typically such an incredible week, I just can’t this year.
But I must. I actually have to–I’m the Pastor of Worship at our church, and it’s my job. But I think we all should come to Holy Week and let ourselves sink into the story. As I went to print the worship order for Good Friday and paused to remind myself why we call it good, I came across this:
“The death of the Lord our God should not be a cause of shame for us; rather, it should be our greatest hope, our greatest glory. In taking upon himself the death that he found in us, he has most faithfully promised to give us life in him, such as we cannot have of ourselves.”–Saint Augustine
It is through death that Christ brings life. It is through the cross that redemption dawns.
This is our defining story.
It is our greatest hope, our greatest glory.
So show up. Go to a worship service. Read the scriptures. Sit in silence. Find hope in the most unlikely of places.
Come to the cross.