One of my favorite childhood memories involves my family preparations for Easter. Now, we always dressed up for church – it was just something we did, and I still remember that first Sunday at a new church when we could wear jeans. I felt like I was breaking the law and can’t tell you the first thing that happened in the service – I was too nervous. Even when that became our new normal, Easter Sunday still meant a new shirt that was special for the day.
Around 1984, I remember going to the store and my mom fitting me for a suit. Now, this was no normal boring suit. This was central Florida and these were the days of Miami Vice. So mom decided I needed the pushed-up sleeves, the pastel shirt, and the pink jacket. Somewhere there’s still a picture of me in this get-up, and while I didn’t know what Miami Vice was, I sure did my best to sport the Don Johnson look.
Dressing up for Easter isn’t a big deal to a lot of folks, but it was for mom. Now, so many years later, I get nervous about this time of year and about what we’re gonna wear for Easter. It’s silly (especially for me since I wear a robe every Sunday) but it is something I feel deep in my gut that just needs to happen. Even this year, when it looks like Palm Sunday and Easter will be celebrated “online” due to the coronavirus, I still have that itch to pile the boys in the van and try to find their Easter outfits.
Over the years, I have learned the value of preparing for Easter, but I’m not talking about an outfit. I’m not talking about making sure the kids have Easter baskets. I’m not talking about making sure our Sunday brunch or feast is going to be spectacular. As a pastor, I’m not even talking about making sure I have my “best sermon” ready to go for all the visitors.
The preparations I need to make begin on Palm Sunday and are a week-long opportunity to deepen and grow. Good Friday was always a special day in my tradition, but the rest of the week was just another set of days that took place between the Palm Parades and the Easter Shouts. But when I went to seminary, I learned that Holy Week matters so much. I learned that the week of preparation was still important. I learned that if I “set my face toward Jerusalem” like Jesus did, then Easter became even more powerful.
Palm Sunday begins with the parade. It has all the excitement you could want in a day. Crowds shouting – singing – religious people worrying – the powers that be keeping an eye out – and even the threat that rocks could start crying out. By the end of the day, Jesus had returned to Bethany and things were quiet. Depending on the Gospel, Jesus either cleared out the temple that day or on Monday – in either case, the week starts with a pow!
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday are quieter days with teachings and challenges from the religious leaders. At some point, Judas Iscariot slipped away and began conspiring with the priests. All in all, those days must have been a mix of strange emotions and a level of expectancy that no one could have quite gripped. To use a giant theological word – it must have been so weird.
Thursday, Jesus invited his friends to celebrate a meal with him. Some, including me, believe it was a seder or Passover meal. They gathered in a borrowed place where a few disciples prepared a meal that every person in Jesus’ entourage had shared every year of their lives. They took time to tell their story and to remember that God has rescued them as a people. Jesus took that meal and recast it. He offered them a picture of what God would be doing for the next several days. A new covenant was happening. A new command was being given.
As the meal ended, Jesus and the 12 went to their campsite on the side of the mount of Olives. Nine were allowed to sleep, 3 were asked to pray, and Jesus agonized. Late into the night, Judas came with the hired security forces of the High Priest and arrested Jesus in an act of betrayal we still shudder to imagine.
That night, Jesus was tried, if you want to call it a trial, and condemned by his own people – by those entrusted with justice and the carrying of the name of God to the world. He was abused. He was beaten. Tradition tells us he was placed in a hole – an old water cistern to await being taken to the governor.
In the morning, he was tried 3 times by Rome’s officials and finally was condemned. He was scourged with a whip that had bits of bone and glass. He was crowned with thorns. He was a bloody mess by the time the crowds shouted: “crucify him.” He was led to a public spot and was further humiliated and finally nailed to the beams and left for dead.
At his death, his side was pierced. At his death, darkness covered the earth. At his death an earthquake-ravaged creation. At his death, a separating veil between God and humanity was torn from top to bottom. A rich man, Joseph, wrapped the body and placed Jesus in his own family tomb. A stone was placed and the world began to wait.
On Saturday, the disciples hid. Tears could no longer fall. Judas torn by his own guilt hung himself. The religious leaders were worried about a coup, so they asked for additional Roman support. Pilate placed guards. And the world sat in the silence and loss of what “could have been.”
But then Sunday dawned. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, and as a few faithful women dressed to give one final act of adoration to a dead friend, and as guards charged with staying awake snored, the earth shook once more. A stone collapsed, messengers were sent with new words that would change the world, and death was defeated.
I have always loved Easter. Each year, I would look forward to that day unlike any other. But when I started to live with Holy Week, Easter became more than a day. When I walk with Jesus through the days and I sit in the uncertainty of an upper room, and journey to a garden to pray out of my soul, when I survey the wondrous cross, and when I quietly wait on Saturday, Easter becomes something more.
I’m not sure of your tradition, but I want to invite you to join me in preparing, not just for Easter, but to honor a Holy Week. Even now, take time to think through the week that looms before us. How could Palm Sunday be different for you? How could you enter the days of that Holy Week? How could you long for Easter by setting your face to Jerusalem? How, in our world that is socially distanced, could we once again enter His story so that the world will know that Easter is more than just a day to wear fancy new clothes?
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