It seems odd to have to say it, but every year it seems I must. For there are people - good Christian folk - who somehow have become so familiar with the story that they have forgotten why we need to repeat it each year. They have become so accustomed to it's details that they don't want to make the trek.
Early on that Friday morning, there was a great deal of turmoil in many peoples' minds and hearts. There were Scribes and Pharisees who were attempting to gather together to make the case before the Sanhedrin that this rabble-rowser had stirred up enough trouble, and now needed to be dealt with swiftly. Earlier that week, he had the audacity to upset the sacred customs of the Temple Treasury in a fit of rage, turning over tables, screaming in the courtyard like a madman, and chasing away the livestock that had been assembled for the holy sacrifices.
There were ordinary citizens of Judea who had taken the trouble and the time to make an arduous journey to Jerusalem to make that pilgrimage a reality - already dealing with the difficulties of long-distance travelling by foot, and dealing with the unpleasantries of the Roman guards and centurions who would harrass them along the way. Only to find as they arrived that the whole city was in turmoil, and the coming trial of a criminal who had disrupted the order of the day.
Then there were the followers. Men and women who had been travelling - some as long as three years - with this man, only to scratch their heads in wonder at why he was doing what he was doing, why he was saying what he was saying.
Last of all there were the disciples - that close-knit band of brothers who had been with him from the beginning. They were confused by the late night feast the evening before, confused by the changing of the centuries-old customs of the seder. Then, there was the arrest, the surrender without a fight, and the disgrace of that mock trial. Had they backed the wrong horse? Had they followed the wrong Messiah? Had these last three years been a waste of time?
The events of that Friday made it difficult for a lot of people. It is no wonder that there are so many folks who live in the moment of Palm Sunday's parade, and exist for an entire week, hoping to land safely on the other side of the Resurrection without having to traverse that dark hillside shadowed by a cross, and then watch as the stone sealed up the last remaining hope for a new order, a new way of life, coming to a halt in the silence of that evening. It is easier, and much less painful to move from the Hosannas of Palm Sunday to the Alleluias of Easter without having to make that trek through Good Friday.
As tempting as it may seem, please do not allow yourself to skip over the darkness of that day. We truly do need the darkness in order to appreciate the brightness of Easter morning. If there is no cross or tomb, there can be no resurrection. Experience it, reflect upon it. Allow God's Spirit to walk with you - even through the darkest valley - the valley of the shadow of death. For the other side of that valley is life everlasting.
See you in Church!
Grace and peace,
Brad
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