It can be Holy Week and you can be holding your own cup of grief, straining to whisper: Abba, even now, I know anything is possible with You…but Abba, even now? This one is all You.
It can be Holy Week and you can know what it is to face doing the hard and holy work in a way you dared not imagine just one year ago and it can make you want to whirl around in rage and howl at the last twelve months and all the pain their promises ushered in.
It can be Holy Week and you can think of Jesus’ ripping flesh even as you feel your own heart ripping right in two ragged pieces, threads torn in places that feel like they’ve only just mended from the last tearing.
It can be Holy Week and you can watch a beautiful story burn, watch the ashes fly off into the night without even enough leftover to scrape into a pile and someday barter for beauty.
It can be Holy Week and you can wonder how we went from hosanna to hatred in a matter of days.
It can be Holy Week and you can feel abandoned, forsaken, cut off, betrayed, left for dead.
It can be Holy Week and you can grab a towel and wash some feet.
It can be Holy Week and you can knowingly, willingly choose to share your table, your bread and your wine with a friend on their way to betray you with a kiss.
It can be Holy Week and you can pray so hard you sweat blood.
It can be Holy Week and you can stop the hand that grabs the sword to sever the ear to slow the death march.
It can be Holy Week and you can refuse to take offense.
It can be Holy Week and you can comfort another dying beggar.
It can be Holy Week and you can serve.
It can be Holy Week and you can love.
It can be Holy Week and you can die.
And because it is Holy Week, you can know you will rise.
Because it is Holy Week, you can know you will see that tomb empty again.
Because it is Holy Week, you can know: even now, your Abba will bring new life.
Because with your Abba, especially now, everything is possible.
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