Moving Silently Through Holy Week
I skipped out to the mail box as a young girl with blond pig-tails swinging wildly, excited to retrieve the mail for mom. But then I heard it. The sound of a plane over head. Suddenly my joy turned to fear. I reached the mail box, covered my ears, crouched down, and tried to hide. The fear overwhelmed me. I don’t recall the exact sensation, but I recall how terrified I was of planes. I don’t know if it was the noise or the fear of a crash. I know mom would ask me as I shuttered in fear, what was it I was afraid of? I couldn’t tell her. I just was. I had no words to speak about how I felt.
As I move through Holy Week, I have no words to speak of Christ’s death on the cross and the resurrection. Instead, I wonder whether, if I had lived during that time, whether I would have been struck with fear and an absence of words. I wonder whether I would have been one who refused to speak up for Christ or one who refused to listen to Christ.
I am certain I would not have spoken up. And I imagine, like I did as a kid, I would have been wrought with fear, a fear I perhaps could not articulate.
That is difficult to admit, but I admit it with certainty. Today, I don’t find it easy to talk about the resurrection because I find it intellectually incomprehensible.
Understanding it and believing it required a transformation from head to heart–an inner knowing. Faith. Belief in things unseen.
So, as I move silently through Holy Week, I reflect on my own failings, but I look to the cross. I read the words of another who reminds me that I am precious and dear to God, despite my failings. He covers me with His grace. I find peace at the foot of the cross. On my knees. In silence, but not afraid.
“All that makes Him precious and dear to the Father has been transferred to me. His excellency and glory are seen as if they were mine; and I receive the love, and the fellowship, and the glory, as if I had earned them all.”
–Horatius Bonar, The Everlasting Righteousness