Where am I this Holy Week?

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Am I on the street singing, “Hosanna in the highest! Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord,” waving my palm branch in His honor, but oblivious to much of who He is, and unwilling to follow Him down this road of descent?  

Or am I riding with Jesus on that lowly donkey, protesting the powers that be?

Am I selling sacrifices to people in the Temple courtyards, putting up a wall between them and God?

Or am I following Jesus into the Temple, ready to help him overturn the tables of those who swindle money from people who don’t have it, and overturn the religious systems that are more concerned about maintaining their purity than caring for the people, and overturn the theologies that place heavy burdens on people already carrying more than they can handle? 

Am I walking with Judas in secrecy and hypocrisy, trading my place by Jesus’ side for a few pieces of silver, pretending to love Jesus with a kiss, but really trying to destroy what He is trying to accomplish?

Or am I bending down with Jesus, washing the feet of a weary traveler, taking the place of a servant, leading by love?

Am I standing tall with Peter, vowing to never betray Jesus, defending Him with the slash of my sword, but crouching in fear and abandoning Him very quickly when asked if I too am one of His?

Or am I following Jesus’ call to eat his body and drink his blood? 

Am I going with Jesus into the garden, wanting to pray and stand by his side, but falling asleep instead?

Or am I praying beside Jesus to let this cup pass from me, not wanting to face what is to come but praying for the strength to face it anyway? 

Am I standing with the crowd shouting for Jesus to be crucified, asking for a known criminal to be saved instead, delighting in the downfall of One who does not follow the rules? 

Or am I on the cross with Jesus feeling that God has abandoned me, weeping with compassion and forgiveness for my enemies, wanting a drink of relief? 

Am I keeping vigil for Jesus, burying him in my tomb, covering his body in spices, weeping and letting go of hope?

Or am I running to the tomb to see if it can be true, perhaps not always recognizing Him, but responding to my name being called, feeling hope come alive again? 

Am I standing with Thomas in denial?

Or am I beginning to see that even in death, life will come?

“The way up is the way down. Trust the down. Let God take care of the up.” Richard Rohr

“Holy Week is not about perfection maintained but about imperfection restored.” ~Rachel Held Evans