And Life Goes On: Reflections on Holy Week

It's Holy Week, that time of the year when we pause and consider the last days of Jesus.  That time when we remember the story of his last supper, his arrest, his trial, his death.  Sometimes we not only remember, but we even re-enact portions of that week--at least in our own limited ways.  We gather for Holy Suppers and share the cup and loaf and hear the words he is said to have uttered on that night.  Strange words.  Haunting words.  "This is my body, this is my blood." 

In some cultures we literally pick up crosses and carry them through the streets--a modern Via Dolorosa, if you will.  My mother tells me that in her little southeastern Kentucky village they drag a cross through the streets to the town square, where the county courthouse stands.

For Christians, it is the holiest week of the year.  But in a pluralistic culture like ours, things don't come to a crashing halt simply becuase it is Maundy Thursday or Good Friday.  Years ago, the governor of New Hampshire tried to fly the flag at half-mast on Good Friday.  He was ordered to stop doing so.  And that was right.  Church and state must be kept separate to protect both. 

Still, I always feel things hsould just come to a halt so that we can focus our attention on the unfolding story that begins on Palm Sunday.  But no, life goes on as usual.  Banks make loans.  Mail gets delivered.  Shops sell their goods.  Divorces get finalized.  The dead get buried.  Lovers get married.  Laws get passed that limit the rights of women in North Dakota.  Cases get argued before the Supreme Court that may expand the rights of gay men and lesbian women.  Basketball teams win and lose.    Life goes on.

And maybe that's as it should be.  After all, things didn't come to a crashing halt in Jerusalem just because of a special supper in an upper room.  Pilate didn't take a holiday because he tried a rather odd prisoner.  Soldiers didn't delay hanging up those deemed to be traitors to Rome on crude crosses at the edge of town.  Deserters deserted.  Betrayers betrayed. Deniers denied.  Women followed and wept.  Life went on.  Even in the face of death.

Maybe what we need to learn is that every week is a holy week.  Maybe what we need to understand is the simple reality that in the comings and goings of every day, every minute, lies the hope for resurrection. 

It's Holy Week.  And life goes on.