It’s Holy Week. The week that envelops the reason for the hope we have as Christians. In a week’s time, God showed us what hope looks like in our most desperate human conditions. 

I’ve tried to imagine being Mary. She was a mother who loved her Son with all of her heart. Just like me. She’d carried her Son inside her body. Held Him. Sang to Him. And I’d guess, she worried about Him. Just like me. I’m sure she felt that special mother/son bond like I do with mine. And I know she was so proud as she watched Him grow into a man. Just like me. Knowing that kind of love, myself, I’ve imagined her watching Jesus being beaten and then crucified. I wonder how a mother’s physical body could absorb the trauma of seeing her child tortured and killed right before her eyes. I wonder how a mother’s heart wouldn’t just refuse to continue beating. Not only was her call to be the mother of our Savior an awkwardly difficult thing when she was young, unmarried, and pregnant, but it also locked her into some unimaginable pain and loss, later in her life. She was part of God’s plan to save us. Our paths have never been comparable to Mary's, but, sometimes, God asks us to do some very hard things. Mary reminds us that life in a fallen world will require us to endure painful and personal losses, but her Son overcame the world on Easter and we can take heart that there is hope in loss. 

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've done something and I did nothing. There have been moments when I should have spoken up and I stayed quiet. I had the chance. The opportunity presented itself. But, I didn’t take it. Maybe it was 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, 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 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 and, sometimes, God has to grow us before He can do His work through us. Peter reminded us when we fail in our walk- no matter how publicly or how flagrantly- Jesus’s sacrifice covers us and He will set us back on our feet to start again, because there is hope in failure. 

I’ve tried to imagine being the thief, who turned to Jesus as he was hanging on the cross next to Him. I wonder how it feels to know you’re in your last hour of life. I can imagine thoughts come fast and hard at a time like that. Thoughts about eternity and self-reflection and, I’m sure, regret. 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 earnest 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. The thief reminded us there was nothing Jesus wasn’t willing to give up to redeem us. If we just ask and believe- no matter what kind of life we’ve lived or how long we’ve waited- there is hope in sin and death. 

I’ve tried to imagine being Jesus. How would it feel to know the horrific things that were about to happen to me, while watching my closest friends scatter? My mortal 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, arrogantly, and unapologetically? I’ve also tried to comprehend hanging on a cross for the sake of a woman like me, who'd live almost two thousand years later. A stubborn, complacent, prideful, undisciplined woman, who'd disappoint and offend me over and over and over again. A woman, whose life would be so full, she wouldn’t really 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 wouldn’t. Jesus came and experienced emotions, pains, frustrations, and even death- just like us. We have a Savior who can sympathize with our suffering, minister to us, and offer us hope in pain.