It's been a crazy week. Holiday weeks usually are. My to-do list was so long and sprawling that I had to break it down into several smaller lists- one for each day. I thought I'd be less likely to overlook something that way, while also making things appear less insurmountable. I'm sure your list looks about like mine. You've probably got a ham to pick up. Eggs to fill. Dry cleaning you can't forget. Desserts to make. And somebody is probably needing a new tie or church shoes as we call them down here in the South. We've talked a lot about the pressure we put on ourselves at holiday time to make everything nice for our families. When we heap that on top of work, church, family, and social commitments, well, we can allow the activity around the holy day to engulf our consciousness of the reason for the holy day.

I got to church for our Maundy Thursday service, tonight, and headed to choir practice to go over the songs we'd be singing. My head was pounding as it had been all day. A mix of a weather front, allergies, and I'm sure a little stress, too, as I'd been checking items off my list, most of the day, and was already thinking about tomorrow's. I put my choir robe on and headed to the sanctuary with the rest of the choir, wishing my ibuprofen would hurry up and kick in.

Just before the sermon, scenes from The Passion came up on the screen. A series of crucifixion clips were set to beautiful music. For those few minutes, I sat and watched the depiction of what Jesus did for me. Some, terribly hard to watch. Some causing me to shift in my seat or look down and wince. Suddenly, all the things I needed to accomplish before Sunday didn't seem to matter so much in that moment. This was the reason for Sunday and it was all that really mattered. I felt like I'd failed in my effort to be intentional with my thoughts when all the activity came swirling around the holiest of days. I'm guilty of getting so wrapped up in my little world and my busy schedule, my people, my plans, and my family that, sometimes, I can feel a million miles and a million years away from the cross.

Scenes from the movie steered my thoughts back on the right track. We can’t really imagine, here in 2019 America, what Jesus' life was like or the brutality of the time in which He lived. Heck, we can hardly wrap our brain around a world without granite countertops, Wi-Fi, and Starbucks. Portrayals of Jesus in His last days can be so hard to watch, but it's good for us to experience the rawness of the atrocities that He endured for us. It helps us grasp these things that are so foreign to our time and the lives we live here.  

I've tried to imagine being Mary, a mother who loved her son with all of her heart. Just like me. She’d carried her Son. Held Him. Watched Him grow. And I imagine, worried about Him. Just like me.  She loved Him just like I love my children. Knowing that kind of love, myself, I imagined watching one of my children being beaten and then crucified. I wondered how a mother’s physical body could survive the trauma of seeing her son tortured and killed right there before her eyes- how a mother’s heart wouldn’t just stop its beating. Not only was her call to be mother to the Savior a difficult and awkward thing when she was a young, unmarried, pregnant girl, but it also locked her into some devastating pain and grief, later in her life, too. She was part of God’s plan to save us. My life's path has never been comparable to Mary's, but, sometimes, what God asks us to do can be so very hard. I want to trust that He has a reason and a plan like Mary did.

I've tried to imagine being Peter after he realized he’d denied knowing Jesus just like he said he would never do. I’ve never denied Jesus in person, but I’ve tried to distance myself from Him in more subtle and “acceptable” ways. There have been times when I should have spoken and I stayed quiet. There have been times when I should've done something and I did nothing. Maybe because of who was around me. Or maybe I didn't feel comfortable being associated with Jesus stuff in that particular situation. There weren’t any roosters that crowed to alert me to what I’d done and I didn’t have to look directly into Jesus’ face, but the sin was just the same. I’m sure Peter was in agony; feeling like he’d blown his chance to prove his faithfulness, but Jesus came back, and showed him mercy, and reestablished him....pointing him forward and not backward. There was a job that Jesus needed Peter to start on right away. Sometimes, God has to grow us before He can do His work through us. I want to learn from my mistakes, forget them, and move forward with what I'm supposed to be doing like Peter did.

I tried to imagine being the thief, who turned to Jesus as he was hanging next to Him. I wonder how it would feel to know that you’re in your last hour of life. I can imagine the thoughts come fast and hard at a time like that. Thoughts about eternity and self-reflection. I’ve never been on a cross at the point of death, but I’ve hung very anxiously at the end of my rope. The times when I’m shaken by my own insufficiency is always when I'm likely to look for God in the most serious way. Sometimes, He has to take us to the end of ourselves and to the end of our options to remind us to depend on Him. I want to know where to turn like the thief on the cross did.

I tried to imagine being Jesus. I tried to imagine knowing the horrific things that were about to happen to me, while watching my closest friends scatter. My mind couldn’t grasp the idea of asking for God’s forgiveness for people who’d whipped me, spat on me, and mocked me. How do you ask for mercy for people, who've harmed you so savagely and unapologetically? I also tried to imagine hanging on a cross for the sake of a woman, who'd live thousands of years later….a woman who’d be a blogger, a busy wife and mother...a stubborn, complacent, undisciplined woman, who'd disappoint and offend me over and over and over again....a woman, whose life would be so full that she wouldn’t give much thought to what I'd done for her on an average day. I tried to imagine the kind of love that you'd have to have to die for someone like that and I couldn't. I want to love people even when they're hard to love or don't deserve it.....like Jesus did.

In the quietness of these first few moments of Good Friday, my to-do lists have receded to the back corners of my mind, where they belong. In their place are simply the whisperings of my soul to my Savior, "I'm so sorry for all that you went through for me, Jesus. Thank you for your amazing gift."


I hope you have a wonderful weekend celebrating the hope and joy of Easter with your family and friends!

See y'all next week.