There’s something rather calming about after all the children finally cave in for bed time, and the toys and books can be put away in a somewhat organized fashion, or the cups can be neatly stacked before the youngest one knocks them down the next morning; and, at least for a couple rooms in the house, some sense of order and perhaps even some peace and tranquility is restored. There’s something almost triumphant about it: that no matter how chaotic the day had been, somehow peace, in the end, can still reign.
Perhaps there’s something along those lines for this upcoming Holy Week, as we call it. Chaos will be re-told come Palm Sunday. Granted, a good kind of chaos for the start, at least. Then, there will be betrayals and denials and awkward final meals and passing off responsibility between religious and empire leaders and mockings and spittings and crucifixions all leading to the mortal end of the one who was dead-set on bringing peace to us all. It will be yet another emotional roller coaster ride, forcing church-goers to not only read and listen to it, but dig deep into recognizing the on-going saga of our not always pleasant human condition. As if certain parts of one the most…despairing stories ever told is still being carried out today.
Thankfully the week kept going: the Gospel kept going. No matter how chaotic that week had been, no matter how chaotic the history of the whole world had been, a piece and peace of God beyond understanding, still insisted on rising. Now, it would be nice come that early morning of tomb-emptying if, in fact, sin and death could be finally put away in a somewhat organized fashion: that we wouldn’t have to deal with them as much. Of course, we still do: they get thrown around seemingly all over any room we walk into in this life, in some form or fashion. Evidently, we weren’t supposed to be blessed with a complete orderly fashion about our life proceedings.
However, the Promise of the end of the Holy Week, is that it Promised a next week. The Promise emerged on the first day of not just the following seven-day cycle, but the first day of hope for the rest of the human story. It Promised a new day no matter how chaotic the previous day had been. It Promised a rising not just that historic first day, but a constant rising over sin and death and all the chaos the world will attempt to hurl at us. It Promised that no matter how huge that combined colossal stack seemed to stand against us, that Christ will ultimately come through and knock it all down not with brutal force, but with all the love and compassion and mercy and grace and hope and peace beyond our understanding.
Yes, part of the Holy Week story, a part that seems to be one of the most despairing stories ever told; part of it seems to be re-playing over and over again. And yet, somehow, someway, a glimpse of Christ’s peace still keeps on rising, and glimpses of love and compassion and mercy and grace still keep on rising, too. Somehow, someway, that part of the first day of the next week is still being played out, too. The Gospel kept going then, and is still going now. Thanks be to God, indeed!