Triduum: Hold On Hope

It’s been a hard month, a hard year. Re-watching Scrubs and this song was featured. It stirs me every time. If you want to fully enter into my reflection below, press play and keep reading with this in the background.

It seems fitting that I’m feeling this way on this particular weekend– Saturday of Holy Week– when I do my best to reflect on how the believers felt this day, over 2000 years ago. A song I love describes it this way: “the cruel cross had crucified the hope of every heart.” Fearful. Empty. Lost. A bone-deep exhaustion. How could anything be right again?

2018 has kicked my butt. Truly.

I’ve battled intense loneliness and blasts of anxiety. I was burned so badly in 2017 that I’m now defaulting to mistrust, when that is certainly not my preference. Book stuff has me questioning my identity as a writer, my identity as a confident woman. Health issues continue to click into place, though I skipped using my CPAP last night and had a long evening of battle-packed dreams of war and betrayal that has left me feeling depleted. It’s almost April and yet it snowed three inches last night. Where is spring? Will it ever come again?

We wait.

The lifeless body in a tomb that Saturday . The grief and loneliness and ache of this one.

We wait. I wait.

Because I, with my 2000 years of hindsight, know what sunrise brings: resurrection, which has fueled hope ever since for people like me. Hope, big enough to hold me when I can’t hold onto it.

 

Holy Week

I love Easter.  I mean, I really love it.  I love Easter the way most people love Christmas.

Palm Sunday.  Gethsemane.  The cross.  Blood, blood, blood, and the sin of the world on His shoulders.

And then Easter morning comes, and HE LIVES, and EVERYTHING IS DIFFERENT NOW.  Such a mighty victory– one that turned the ugliest thing (the cross) into this incredibly BEAUTIFUL picture of salvation.

Here is something I have wondered.  You know how sick you feel over the weekend when you know you have a terrible Monday ahead of you– maybe it’s a presentation, or you have to have a hard conversation with a co-worker, or you have to face your poor sales figures once again?  The anticipation is terrible, gut-wrenching, so ugly.

My question is this: how could Jesus know about the cross from all eternity and survive such a weight of knowledge?  I imagine it was almost a relief when Judas finally stepped into the garden and kissed His cheek.

I am so proud of my God.