It’s Friday but we want Sunday . . . it’s now but we want not yet.
The passing of my mom added to the sorrow of a Holy Week fourteen years ago today. It was hard to look past her suffering to see the hallelujahs in it all. I remember thinking in those last moments as her heart faded – we’re all in critical condition needing a Savior to take us to Sunday. It was easier for me to see where she was going instead of looking at what it took to get there . . .
A two-sided path leads to Easter. Suffering and victory. The shorter one is comfortable and pastel – it rushes to the resurrection but misses reflecting on the one stained with blood tracks. It’s easier.
When our hearts fall for the idol of convenience, it’s more comforting to look at the hosannas rather than the suffering-passion of Jesus. It’s easier to turn our head than to be right there with the broken human-Him in the Gethsemane betrayal or the Golgotha cup that wouldn’t pass as He carried the Father’s will uphill to a cross -and listen to crowds who wave palms and praise that somehow turn to chants of crucifixion in the land of the fickle. It’s just easier . . .
And so our now-Easter isn’t about masks and isolation, more handwashing than foot washing – it’s really about seeing who we are and who He is from a different view. It’s been a game-changer of a hard month missing family and it’s been a hard holy week missing the usual. But I’m totally impressed and blessed by so many who remain positively-creative and connected in the middle of the mourn. But Friday, the sacred piece that links the now to the not yet – the suffering place that collides with victory. Forever.
And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed His last – and the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. Mark 15:37