One week.
On the colt of a donkey, he rode toward that hill, toward a temple that at least at one point housed the presence of God on earth. We picture him sitting calmly in all that swirling activity, excitement for the popular young teacher and healer who would spend the holiday in the holy city, excitement for the Passover itself. What excitement did he share? What weight was he carrying?
One week.
He knew the end of the story near the beginning of the story. What did he gather from the ancient prophecies? What did his Father have to tell him? What did he just know being one with the Father? Was his knowledge a process like any child learns, or did he just always know? With only one week until the blinding light of perfection consummated, what was left to know? Death was conquered.
One week.
The night before, we see him in gut-wrenching agony, sweating drops of blood for what he knew he would endure. He asks (begs?) for reprieve. He would have had it another way. Was it the immediacy of that night and the next day’s events that caused him to implore his father in desperation? But he knew there was no other way. Was this kind of pain lingering beneath the surface for the whole week? For many years? Since he was born? A man of sorrows.
One week.
It happens this year that there is a difficulty in celebrating as the crowds did very nearly 2,000 years ago. This week it happens that we don’t have the easy excitement for all that Easter brings. What will Sunday look like without the meal shared with family and friends? Will any makeshift traditions be worth the trouble? We’ll go through the motions, but let’s be honest, the day will be tinged with disappointment from top to bottom.
One week.
For the first time in our collective lives, there is very little to look forward to for the rest of this week. For the first time as a church, nation, and world, there isn’t much hope to distract us for the rest of this week. Perhaps for the first time as individuals we will share in the quiet and unhopeful vision that Christ must have had moving toward Friday.
One week.
The sun will rise Sunday. Too little excitement and few traditional celebrations will occur, but the eternal significance of the day remains. Jesus knew every bit of the goodness that his death and resurrection would usher in. Jesus lived his life and strode toward Jerusalem very nearly 2,000 years ago with a full understanding of what glory lay on the other side of his mortal life. And still…
And still…
Friday’s agony is visceral. We too move toward this weekend with fear of the unknown and the disappointed despair that life cannot be what it should. Still, believers are the ones who ought to remain calm amidst the swirling activity, and soberly acknowledge this brokenness as Christ demonstrated. We know what’s on the other side of all this, what was promised.
One week.
We have a savior, a high priest who knew disappointment, who shares our burden as we lift a heavy cross each day this week, looking death in the face and hurting.