Holy Week is upon us, with its rollicking roller coaster of palms and praise, of tumultuous turmoil in the temple, of seder and sorrow, suffering and surrender, and of the rock-away realization of resurrection.
The poem “Holy Week” by Presbyterian elder Ann Weems captures the criticality of each of its days as Easter comes our way.
Holy is the week …
Holy, consecrated, belonging to God …
We move from hosannas to horror
with the predictable ease
of those who know not what they do.
Our hosannas sung,
our palms waved,
let us go with passion into this week.
It is a time to curse fig trees that do not yield fruit.
It is a time to cleanse our temples of any blasphemy.
It is a time greet Jesus as the Lord’s Anointed One,
to lavishly break our alabaster
and pour perfume out for him
without counting the cost.
It is a time for preparation …
The time to give thanks and break bread is upon us.
The time to give thanks and drink of the cup is imminent.
Eat, drink, remember:
On this night of nights, each one must ask,
as we dip our bread in the wine,
“Is it I?”
And on that darkest of days, each of us must stand
beneath the tree
and watch the dying
if we are to be there
when the stone is rolled away.
The only road to Easter morning
is through the unrelenting shadows of that Friday.
Only then will the alleluias be sung;
only then will the dancing begin.
God bless you this Holy Week,
Rev. Charles B Hardwick, PhD Executive email@example.com phone number 309-530-4578