Like most in the church world, I’ve been absorbed by Holy Week. Since my church staff position is as administrator, I have the fortunate position of being busy, but not so busy that I don’t have time to stop and reflect along the way.
Our journey to the cross is almost over. Our sights are on it as this is the night that Jesus will be betrayed. As Bob Goff pointed out, this is the night that Jesus chooses to eat his last meal with the person he knows will betray him. This is the night when he will break bread and pour wine and wash feet. It is the night when hope begins to die.
I can’t help but wonder what it means that this is the week in the church calendar we have called holy: a week wrought with grief and pain. Why not start holy week with Easter so it can be a week of rejoicing? Wouldn’t that seem more holy? Or perhaps the week when Jesus was born. Those precious moments when mother and son are bonding, with Mary realizing that she is caring for the very son of God. Surely that is holy. Or what about Pentecost when the Spirit comes down in tongues of fire? Now that is holy AND exciting.
But it is here –here in our despair, in our loneliness — that the church has seen fit to use the term holy. If there is to be comfort in this time of waiting, in this time of sorrow, it is that our hurt is not separate from God. This, too, is holy.