Holy Week

As the week plays out, there is a question that surfaces. Where does the Spirit move you most during Holy Week? There is no one way to move along the path of Holy Week.

I feel more drawn to mourn lost relationships.  To cease criticizing all parties involved and to let be what is.

This is a hard path to walk. I’m a fixer, but when I find their is a blockage at every end, I must let be what is.

The silence.

The voices.

The images.

The sorrow.

The memories.

The tears.

The grief.

All of this leads me to Holy Week.

The replay “of how this week could have unfolded differently if only”… is loud, especially this week.  Again, I must let be what is.

God is not surprised. God knew this day was approaching. Preparation was being made.

The alabaster jar broken.

Perfume poured.

The donkey.

The last supper.

The washing of the feet.

The prayer in the garden.

The betrayal.

The lies.

The beating.

The shame and mocking.

The crown of thorns.

The path that led to the crucifixion.

The nails.

The cross.

It’s hard to let this be, but I do. I have to.

There is a line from a poem that comforts me as I sit this week.

And perhaps, what feels like a burial is more of a planting.
And perhaps, what seems like dying is actually resurrecting.

Sarah Bourns Crosby, “The Tomb”

This Lord. All of this!