Tomorrow starts Holy Week. Palm Sunday. Children marching down the aisle of the church waving palm fronds obtained from who knows where in these non-tropical environments. Reflections on Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, and the fickleness of the human heart.
And then a week of deeper contemplation. Maundy Thursday and the Last Supper – the poignant demonstration of Jesus’ humble and self-sacrificing love for his own. Good Friday – the passion of our Lord in his complete sacrifice on our behalf. Tenebrae services in dim light, slowly being extinguished to darkness and departure in utter silence. Crosses draped in black with crowns of thorns on top. Black Saturday – as we wait in solemn hope. Easter Sunday – masses of lilies and flowers, crosses draped in royal purple or white, the church smelling like a botanical garden in spring, triumphal, joyful music, and exuberant singing. Hope! Life! Death defeated forever!
But not this year. This year we sit in silence. Alone.
I grew up in a Lutheran church. But not just as a pew-sitter. Oh no! My dad was the pastor. Holy Week, while contemplative in its own way, was a flurry of activity and busyness in our home. Every service – we were there. (Well, we got to choose between the 2 or 3 on Good Friday and the 3 or 4 on Easter Sunday – but Easter Sunday was usually 2 – sunrise, and another one before dinner.) My dad was busy. I bless the reprieve that pastors around the world are having this week. It’s a lot for them! But I know that many thrive on that, and this feels really, really sad. Some may have gotten the inspiration for their sermon months ago and already jotted down notes. That’s fine – they can record them to an empty sanctuary, or their iPhone, and send them our way. Which is by no means the same – but I am looking forward to seeing what comes out of this unusual season we are in.
I think we’re all going to experience a little bit of sadness this week, as we reflect on what we’re missing. But are we missing something? Or are we actually more able to be present to the real “thing” we are celebrating?
I was reflecting this morning on the title we give this short season – Holy Week. Holy = set apart to a sacred use or to the service or worship of God, according to Webster’s 1828 Dictionary. I think it is safe to see the double entendre in that definition right now. Set apart. Don’t you feel “set apart?” Maybe this week we can view our “set part-ness” as a symbol of all that this week holds for us.
Holy Week is my favorite season of the church year. Even as a child, who may not have always appreciated being in church every time the sanctuary was open and lit up, I LOVED the Tenebrae service on Good Friday. Even children can’t miss the solemnity of such a powerful demonstration, and the profundity of the silence at the close. I had planned ahead this year. I wanted to participate in a Protestant version of the Stations of the Cross service. I found two in my city, one at an Anglican church, and one at a Lutheran church, and I planned to go. I was also going to assist my pastor in bringing the Stations of the Cross worship and reflection to my own church this year, using resources from the Transforming Center. Well, that isn’t going to happen as we thought, though it still might in a slightly different fashion. But maybe you need something to help you walk with Jesus through his passion and crucifixion. I commend to you this virtual Stations of the Cross service which will be taking place on Friday, orchestrated by the Transforming Center. Join with people around the world on Good Friday as we contemplate Jesus and his sacrifice on the cross, and the amazing gifts He gave us this weekend. Become part of a cascade of prayers around the globe remembering and being grateful.
And Easter. What do you do? I’m still noodling on that one. Of course, you can join in with services around the world online. In fact, you can probably join in with a different service every hour all day long if you want to! But for me, after my church’s virtual Easter service, I’m going to be spending my Easter in the company of Mary Magdalene.
Because you see, as I told my staff in Sierra Leone yesterday, while we love to celebrate Easter together, with all the flowers and music that accompanies that, the very first Easter was celebrated in a cemetery. Alone. By one woman. And I don’t think the celebration was lost on her as she knelt alone before that tomb before her risen Master. And when she did try to celebrate in the company of others? They didn’t believe her.
So this Easter, I want to join Mary – kneeling alone in a garden before an empty tomb, listening to the voice of my Savior and Friend as He calls me by name, allowing all that the resurrection means to become vivid and enlivened in my own heart, and feeling empowered and compelled to pass that message on to others – whether they want to listen or not.
Let the Church of God arise! Let us be Easter people, proclaiming the hope of resurrection life to everyone we encounter. Even in our relative isolation.
Christ is risen!
He is risen, indeed!
Hallelujah!