It’s Friday and we want Sunday.
A two-sided braided path leads to Easter. There’s the shorter one, rushing to the resurrection where we miss reflecting on the one stained with blood tracks. But, they’re entwined.
The passing of a dear friend added to the sorrow of a holy week. He suffered. Driving home from the hospital the other night had me think of how all of us are in critical condition needing a Savior to take us to Sunday.
The final hours for Jesus had Him face devouring crowds, the cup that wouldn’t pass, and His Father’s will to carry the world uphill to a cross . . in the ancient week that still fills the hours of today.
Divinity is larger than nails, yes, but we must also see the human side . . . the healthy thirty-three year old carpenter whipped to holy bone, failing organs and a ruptured heart, while looking through swollen eyes to see a thief hanging next to Him needing mercy . . . and a mom beneath the pierced feet that helped take a first step. The human side.
I know the simpler side of Easter is pastel – not darkness.
But, Friday. The sacred piece on the broken path where we must camp for a moment to experience the beauty of the agony that leads to Sunday.
(take a precious moment to listen to In Christ Alone and see where you are in the crowd)