I know this doesn't seem appropriate, but I needed to lighten it up somehow...

Holy Week, indeed.
From Palm Sunday to Resurrection Sunday was easily one of the most emotionally difficult seven day stretches of my life. Holy Week for my little section of the world was characterized by death, grieving, tragic loss, families torn apart and in crisis, and stressstressstress. The suicide of a young teen in our church hit me pretty hard and had me reliving my own experience with suicide – not my own attempt, but the death of a close friend – which occurred more than 11 years ago.

It was a surreal week for the leadership and staff in the church. Everyone was speaking so softly and moving so quickly. It would have been obvious to an uninformed outsider that some big stuff was going down. Thankfully, everyone pulled together in a gloriously Christ-led display of teamwork and support.

In particular, I was struck by, but thankful for the mirroring of that first Holy Week in our own lives. On Palm Sunday, we celebrated the coming King (Hosanna!). On Monday morning, we were confused and reeling at the loss of a gifted and vibrant young life. Many were fearful for their own children’s lives, and by Tuesday, when more information had become available, we wondered, perplexed and angry, “God, where were you when that boy needed you?!?” (Crucify Him!). This loss was followed by the death of a respected leader and elder. Then there were multiple families in crisis and suddenly by Thursday we were celebrating the Lord’s final Passover meal with the full realization that the game had changed. What had been the shock of the knowledge of death became the stark and terrifying reality of loss as the casket(s) were carried in and carried out. Just as the disciples shared that first Passover transformed into the Lord’s Supper, and left confused and afraid, suddenly we were left wondering, “Where is our God in this?” On Friday, all of the funerals were done. The sudden news of death had cycled into planning, the planning into funerals, and the funerals into the empty silence after all of the mourners have gone and all you are left with is the void where a young man once sat at the dinner table, the silence left by a respected leader no longer speaking wisdom, the heartbreak of a King who promised salvation, now dead and locked behind a wall. As hard as it was from Sunday to Thursday, once the calamity of Friday had calmed, it was harder still that we were only left with our questions and dwindling hope.

How long can you make it without hope? That was the question that was posed to us in Thursday’s remembrance. Can you make it from Friday morning to Friday night? Friday night to dawn on Saturday? Can you last until lunch time on Saturday? Maybe Saturday night could be the goal. Can you make it to Sunday morning without the hope that you had placed in everything that you had thought was a sure thing?

We made it to Sunday morning.
We made it to Sunday morning, and He is risen. Christ is risen. There is hope. There is an answer to death, and it is life. There is a place to find lost hope, and it is in new hope apart from the old. Christ promises to make all things new. You can have new hope. you can have new life. You can be made new. You can be born again.
But you have to die, first. You can’t get to Sunday until you’ve gone through Friday.
These were the words we heard on Sunday morning, and they made sense, even sounded good. But the point is, restoration isn’t needed if there isn’t damage. Healing isn’t a pressing problem if there’s no pain. Salvation doesn’t make sense without the oppression of sin. You have to go through Friday to get to Monday.
Holy Week, indeed.