Hope for Holy Week

It never fails that I make a mess of what is supposed to be the most reflective week of the Christian year. Maybe because Easter is in the spring when the pace of activities picks up, but I always find myself more hurried and harried than usual in the days leading up to it.

I’ve been rushing around from piano recitals to track meets, from special school events to dance rehearsals, from marketing meetings to late night grocery store runs for cookies we nearly forgot to send in. I’ve barely looked up from my suburban calendar to know it’s Holy Week.

Last week when we were grabbing one of our many dinners on the go, my youngest one started telling us about her day. She started with as much enthusiasm as a spirited 7-year-old can muster, “Today we learned about Peter’s last dinner with the ten wisemen.”

It took us a minute, but we soon recognized this as a variation of Jesus’s last supper with the twelve disciples. Bless her. Peter/Jesus, dinner/supper, ten/twelve, wisemen/disciples. She’s just as busy in her mind and body as her mother, and she doesn’t have time to get all the details exactly right. It’s hard for either one of us to be still.

I can’t find any indication in Scripture that Jesus lived the way many of us do in 2019—stressed out and stressed within. Even in the hours before his arrest and crucifixion his pace was slow and intentional. Instead of panicking or preaching a few more sermons, he washed his disciples’ feet and shared a long meal with them. He prioritized people and acts of love until the very end. He modeled a pace and a purposefulness that I would do well to notice.

There is nothing holy about a week full of haste and hurry. But I have to remember this is not about my holiness. It’s not up to me {or you} to be holy. I can’t. And I’m not. Even if I had been less hurried and more present this week, said all the right things and done all the good deeds, been an attentive spouse and a patient parent at every turn… I would be lacking. I’d still need a Savior.

Even my best week, my very best Friday, needs a Good Friday.

It is not the strength of your faith but the object
of your faith that actually saves you.

Timothy Keller

I can only truly be still when I believe this and quit trying to save myself.

My one shot at holiness comes through Christ’s offer that I clothe myself with His. And that was made possible at the cross. We can crawl or walk or even come crashing into this weekend with hope because we serve a God who made a great—a perfect—sacrifice on our behalf. All so we could know grace and peace and life and hope. So we could know love. So we could know Him.

I’ll never get this week exactly right. I just have to believe that He did and that His doing so is enough for me. And for you.

He came. He died. He rose. He lives.