Holy Week

It's Holy Week. Holy week is my favorite week of the liturgical year. It is the week I miss most when I am not in leadership in a local congregation. I am not entirely sure why it is my favorite. I think it has to do with the ritual, the pageantry, the deep emotion that weaves through the week, and of course the joy of Sunday. This part of our faith story is gritty, it's real, it feels eminently accessible. This year, it is sitting a little differently.

I still long for the ritual and the journey, but this year, the narrative feels a little too realistic. I couldn't stop thinking about it today. As the kids processed in to the Triumphal March, waving their palms, I was thinking about the organic, grassroots followers of Jesus time, cutting down branches, waving them in the air and shouting loud hosanna's "save us". I thought of all the people that participated in the "hands-off" rally last weekend- their palm branches were signs of protests and defiance. Grassroots- organic- passionate- needed. I pictured the grand entrance of the Roman Empire on the west side of Jerusalem- full of power and swagger. The parallels to the military parade the current administration is planning for their birthday flashed through my mind. A show of power and arrogance. And from the east, Jesus- on a donkey, a simple, grounded, organic parade in stark opposition. We the people.

My mind moves to Maundy Thursday. When I was working as an associate several years ago, I designed the Maundy Thursday service. I set big tables in the shape of the cross in the fellowship hall. I lined the tables with burlap and the palms from Sunday's service and placed the communion elements in various places along the tables. We shared in a simple supper by candlelight. I will never forget the young unhoused couple who arrived unsure of what was going on but figuring if the church was open around suppertime, there was probably a meal. We invited them to join us at the table. They sat next to one of our more prickly older members as those were the only open seats and I said a silent prayer that she would be on her best behavior. The meal sharing was slow and intentional, conversation quiet and hushed, holding the significance of the night in deep reverence. As I moved around the tables checking on water pitchers and bread baskets, I heard that prickly woman gently encouraging this young couple to take all they needed as we had plenty and that the best part of the meal was yet to come.

At the close of the meal we shared in communion. The story was retold and the elements blessed, then each table was invited to share the meal with their neighbors. I hovered by the young couple- not wanting them to feel uncomfortable or unsure. My dear prickly congregant graciously guided them, fully including them in the gift that is sharing the bread and the cup. After the final blessing was given, the young man (no older than one of my own sons) came up and gave me a hug. "That was the best meal I have ever eaten. Thank you for including us." When it was all cleaned up and I was sitting alone in my car, I wept. Thankful for the gifts of bread and cup, of radical welcome, of deep kindness.

I hadn't thought about that story in a long time. But again today, as I thought about Holy Week stretching out before us, I couldn't help but think how badly we all need that kind of acceptance, of reassurance, of grace right now. Because right now, it feels a whole awful lot like we are living in our own version of Good Friday. It is dark, it is scary. We want to look away and yet we must be present. Love is being persecuted in all the places we know Jesus would show up. On the margins, with the immigrants, with the gays and transgenders, with veterans and teachers, with the seniors and the women. Jesus is being nailed to the cross over and over again.

Often in this season, I caution against moving too quickly to Easter- to make sure we spend time on the journey, not skipping over the last supper and Good Friday, or forgetting to hold space on Holy Saturday. But this year, I want to caution us to not forget that we are

Easter people. We are living Holy Week in a visceral and horrible way. It's making sense in ways it hasn't before. The reality of it smacks into us with every news cycle. AND YET, Easter is coming. There will be resurrection in this story too. And in this week or month or year or years of Holy hell, we are called to join the organic, the grassroots, the sign waving parade. We are called to gather at tables, welcoming the hungry stranger and sharing the promise of bread and cup. We are called to be present in the Good Friday moments- to take account, to tell the story, to witness.

We are Easter people. Amen. - The Sassy Pastor.