Holy Tuesday--In-Between Time

 

THEN

Palm Sunday seemed to be so far away. There were rumblings everywhere. Jesus kept saying Be alert. Pray, brothers and sisters, that when the hard days come you will get through them.

The dark warnings troubled them now. Watch for what? He had said we would make it through. Sounded scary at the least. They knew this Holy Tuesday what Rome could do. They had seen the cruelty of those that should have known better—their leaders—the religious ones. 

The power of cursed Rome seemed to be everywhere. And the roads many days had been lined with cross after cross after cross. Men screaming in pain. Dying while mothers and fathers and wives and sometimes children gathered there. They could not believe it had come to this. 

Jesus had begun his walk up that terrible hill where the blood had dried and pain and death were not far behind. Yes, they could believe the crowd that spat on him, hurled stones and laughed their fool heads off as their Lord stumbled and fell. We knew how the end would go up there where the soldiers already gathered with that mound of splintered wood and nails and cloth to wipe the blood from their hands. 

They knew the end and all those hopes and dreams for a better life, a better world would be no more. What would happen to them. Dear God, what would they do.

It was only at the week’s end that they could hardly believe Simon and those women who came running, running saying over and over that he was not dead. Jesus was alive. 

And suddenly their grief shed most of its power and hope, that wonderful hope came surging back. They did not know what this Resurrection would mean. Or all the stories they pieced together later would mean, but many of them would find surprises in their hard lives they did not expect.

NOW

So like them we are at that in-between stage. There is dark at the top of our stairs. Fear. Worries on top of worries. Heart-breaking things like the loss of a wife, the death of  child, enormous disappointments looking back on what was and will never come again. 

And even today with all its craziness we remember that first Easter and all the strange joy it brought. And how despite Rome still in charge and nightmares of Judas still warm and hardly enough to eat—they went on and told the story and believed it as well.

And this Easter despite our own way of sorrows, and all the heavy things we carry—hopefully we will be surprised at those did those first half-believers. Maybe Easter is not just another Easter. Colored eggs, cute bunnies and a little more finery than we usually wear. Crowded churches and Easter lilles everywhere. 

Maybe is really a to-be-continued story for us too. Not knowing that on some Emmaus Road of our own despite the crutches and walkers, the grief and the pain and really wondering if this could be true—doors we thought were closed forever,  slowly cracked and then opens to enough light that, like them our hearts will burn within us at the surprises we have not yet reckoned with. 

—Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com