Toward the Cross

May there be a movement within this Holy Week:

Monday: We think we know who Jesus is, what He's come to accomplish. We've laid our cloaks before his donkey, waved palm branches upon His entrance into the city. We watch in awe as He overturns tables in the Temple and wonder secretly, "What if the lion of Judah turned upon me?"

Tuesday: We wait in fiery expectation for the downfall of the empire. As Passover approaches we smugly beckon the fog of death to annihilate the best and brightest of Rome.
Wednesday: We begin to grow impatient. It's been four days since our welcomed Savior rode into Jerusalem. We begin to wonder whether we've got it all wrong, whether this Jesus is merely playing upon our hopes and fears.

Thursday: Bread is broken, wine is poured out and we follow the Man of sorrows into the garden. We sleep while he bleeds drops of distress onto hungry ground. Soldiers surround him, the traitor kisses his cheek, and we hold our breath as He breathes a powerful, "I am He." But he is taken away. He is beaten. He is meek. And we wonder, aloud now, why did He lie to us?

Friday: This man cannot be the One. We release our frustration with a cry from deep within our wounded souls, "Crucify him!" But the sun darkens, the earth quakes, and we silently wonder whether we missed something. But the voices of tradition and routine sweep us up and we forget the Man of sorrows.

Saturday: Life is as it was--oppression, religion, silent fears and blind devotion to the empire.

Sunday: We're awoken from our slumber. The heavens split to summon the Man, the Messiah. We are fishing, typing, dreaming, teaching, banking, and divinity's calm hands rest upon our stone-cold shoulders, and whispers the same song we were singing a week ago: Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna.

May this week be one of turning, hearing, and trusting the One who always seems to lie just beyond our expectations of what He should be. May we rise with Him.