Tag Archives: holy week

Tracing the Tears – Resurrection #OurHolyWeek

This Holy Week, I’m going to be blogging each day, tracing the tears Jesus shed for Jerusalem to the tear filled eyes who first saw the Risen Christ. Throughout I’ll be following prompts from #OurHolyWeek


“Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying.”

John’s account of Jesus’ resurrection begins with tears.

The tears of Good Friday and Holy Saturday were still wet on the faces of Jesus’ friends when He returned to them.

And it was through the tears of Mary Magdalene that He chose to appear – that tells me a lot about the Jesus I follow.

It tells me that this suffering servant is acquainted with the deepest grief, but it also tells me that Jesus forever reigns over the agony, that death and agony are beaten.

Twice in the stories of Jesus’ resurrection He is obscured to the people He appears to; first here when Mary believes that someone has taken the body of Jesus she does not realise to whom she speaks until He speaks her name.

Jesus makes the first move, every time, and waits patiently for us to respond. He leaves the ninety-nine to go after the lost sheep and waits for us to invite Him in when we are found.

And secondly, in Luke we read that Jesus is not recognised until He breaks bread with the hopeless travellers on the way to Emmaus.

The Risen Jesus does things as unexpectedly in life as in resurrection (as if resurrection were not unexpected enough!)

He reveals His power over the grave through signs that others may call weak; Mary’s tears, Cleopas’ hopelessness, His own scars which prove who He is to Thomas.

Our first signs of life are our cries of a baby; and here we see that it is through tears that the risen Lord first appeared. Our tears signal the beginning of everything new; the new life Jesus offers, the new hope He embodies.

As the sun rises on Easter Sunday morning, we are reminded that His mercies and our hope are new every morning.

Our hope is in the Christ who died for us, who suffered in His mercy.

Our hope is in the Christ who rose from the grave who has beaten death and evil, in His mercy still bearing the scars of crucifixion.

Our hope is in the Christ who will come again in glory and who in His mercy allows the dawn to rise slowly so that our eyes may become accustomed to the blistering light and life of who He is.

“We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.” Pope John Paul II

 

Tracing the Tears – Holy Saturday #OurHolyWeek

This Holy Week, I’m going to be blogging each day, tracing the tears Jesus shed for Jerusalem to the tear filled eyes who first saw the Risen Christ. Throughout I’ll be following prompts from #OurHolyWeek


No one likes to talk about days like today.

There is no drama, no battle, no victory.

The grave is full and the grief is raw.

It feels like death has won.

Below is a reflection on Holy Saturday adapted from my book “Learning to Breathe“.


Holy Saturday is a day to lament.

Holy Saturday is the valley of grief and uncertainty, for us and for Jesus’ disciples.’

It’s the place where we spiritually live so often, when the worst has happened and we don’t know if or how we can go on – yet in the midst of darkness we trust that dawn will break. It’s often like this in the rest of life, I think. We often remember the most dramatic days, the happiest, but how often do we remember the days of silence, when everything is wrong but nothing can be done? I don’t know if it’s a good thing that we forget days like these in our own lives, but I think it would be good if we spent a little more time remembering Holy Saturday.

It goes beyond the agony of the cross, even. The day when it was finished – when Jesus was dead – because of our sins. It is a day of silence, it seems.

God doesn’t always speak. Sometimes the silence of God says it all. As I write, I’m reminded of Job. Job who lost everything and everyone who mattered to him. Job whose friends were worse than useless. Job to whom God remained silent, waiting to speak. It strikes me that the silence of God is more often than not followed by a presence of God that is so awesome, so mighty, that we can do nothing but bow in praise and awe.

A season like this Holy Saturday can seem endless. It’s the state in which we sometimes live our lives. It’s an open wound. Shelly Rambo writes:

‘The reality is that death has not ended; instead it persists. The experience of survival is one in which life, as it once was, cannot be retrieved. However the promise of life ahead cannot be envisioned.’

There is no happy ending on Holy Saturday. Jesus is in the grave and the shadows of His death keep this day dark without a hope for the resurrection dawn. It’s a mistake to rush beyond today, because it is reflected so often in life.

Holy Saturday continues the tradition of lament set out in the Old Testament, throughout the Psalms and, of course, Lamentations. It tells us that even when God is silent, he is still to be trusted.

It’s important not to rush past the silent days of lament.

We have to be able to deal with the times when God does seem to be on mute, to be absent.

Silence does not mean that God does not exist; scripture shows us that God’s work of life begins in the dark silence and reminds us that even on these; there is hope because Jesus has been in the dark of the tomb and it was the beginning of our greatest hope.

He blesses every love that weeps and grieves

And makes our grief the pangs of a new birth.

The love that’s poured in silence at old graves

Renewing flowers, tending the bare earth,

Is never lost. In him all love is found

And sown with him, a seed in the rich ground.

Malcolm Guite

Tracing the Tears – Service #OurHolyWeek

This Holy Week, I’m going to be blogging each day, tracing the tears Jesus shed for Jerusalem to the tear filled eyes who first saw the Risen Christ. Throughout I’ll be following prompts from #OurHolyWeek


It was the greatest act of service.

Taking the cup of suffering so that our suffering may be redeemed, that one day we will see an end to our suffering.

The picture of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane is one which never fails to bring a lump to my throat. It is the greatest agony ever experienced; and yet He did not run or swerve the job ahead of Him.

Service demands sacrifice; whether the ultimate sacrifice that Jesus offered, or the million mundane acts of service which sacrifice our time or enjoyment.

Love involves a multitude of acts of service; from having a house full of lycra (my sacrifice), having a house full of rose gold accessories (my husband’s sacrifice) or the nappies that need to be changed (a joint sacrifice for our son!)

And the humbling act of service Jesus performed as He washed his disciples feet was just a foretaste to what was to come.

The blood tinged sweat which adorned his brow as He prayed:

“My Father, if it is possible, may this cup(E) be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”

Jesus’ death was the pinnacle of His service. But He had already endured thirty-three years of a messy human life from the moment he was born and laid in a manger. He relinquished His place in heaven so that we may have a chance to have ours.

“God entered time and became a man, he who was boundless became bound. Imprisoned in flesh. Restricted by weary-prone muscles and eyelids. For more than three decades, his once limitless reach would be limited to the stretch of an arm, his speed checked to the pace of human feet.”

Max Lucado

The next time I moan about the small acts of service life demands; I want to remember the sacrificial service that Jesus did for our sake, not only in His death, but in His life.

 

Tracing the Tears – Turning Over Tables #OurHolyWeek

This Holy Week, I’m going to be blogging each day, tracing the tears Jesus shed for Jerusalem to the tear filled eyes who first saw the Risen Christ. Throughout I’ll be following prompts from #OurHolyWeek


Have you ever been so angry that you can barely speak?

When you desperately want to get your point across, but find tears spilling from your eyes instead?

It looks to me, that Jesus’ anger in the temple forecourts looked a little bit like this. We aren’t told if tears of frustration fell as he turned over tables, but we can begin to imagine the devastation and rage Jesus felt as He surveyed what was happening in his Father’s house.

And when Jesus exclaimed; ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations’? he was doing so in the presence of Gentiles –  and many believed that the Messiah would purge the temple of Gentiles – and yet here was Jesus welcoming them. 

He wasn’t just turning over the tables, he was turning over their way of thinking.

All too often, we don’t do well with anger and rage as christians. We see them as “bad” emotions, and yet here is Jesus, angry at the misuse of His Father’s house.

It is not anger and rage that are the sins –  but for many, uncontrolled anger and rage fuel sin.

And yet Jesus did not sin.

The word rage itself can either be used to describe ‘violent uncontrollable anger’ but it can also mean ‘a vehement desire or passion’.

Rage can be the catalyst for change; the start of something new. We have seen throughout history that people’s anger can and does make a difference – we just have to be sure that our rage is directed into creative action, rather than destruction.

It was the injustice of what was happening in the Temple that enraged Jesus – and He wanted to see change.

When I read about injustice, I can feel rage burning within me – and I want to see change.

I want to rage when I see schoolchildren going hungry in the holidays because their parents can’t afford to feed them without their term time free school meal provision.

I want to rage when I see the effects of climate change on the poorest people in our world.

I want to rage when I see people unable to access proper care and treatment for their mental health problems because of stigma and lack of funding.

Rage can propel us to fight for change when we let it be a power of creation rather than destruction.

Mark tells us that after this episode in the temple people were ‘spellbound’ by Jesus’ teaching. His actions were not just those of thoughtless vandalism, they were a visual representation of his message – the gospel that welcomes sinners – that fuels change.

Our rage can be transformed by God when we bring it before Him in lament – Walter Brueggemann writes:

“the laments are refusals to settle for the way things are. They are acts of relentless hope that believes no situation falls outside Yahweh’s capacity for transformation. No situation falls outside of Yahweh’s responsibility.

Jesus’ anger was an act of hope-filled defiance to show Israelites and Gentiles that change was coming.

We have to bring our anger to God in lament to allow Him to empower our own hope-filled defiance to see change.