Tuesday
It's Tuesday of Holy Week. For those of us in the church, it's just the beginning, a ramping up of sorts, getting ready for the "big events" at the end of the week. And already, I've had to explain several times this week why we didn't go anywhere for Spring Break. "Well, it's Holy Week...I sort of have to work." And then I get an, "Ah, oh, of course."
But it's Tuesday of Holy Week. And I'm sitting behind my computer, watching people go here and there, doing the things they do, most likely, every Tuesday, maybe every day. People going to work. People getting groceries. People drinking coffee. People having conversations, many discussing the NCAA tournament (that other worship experience that is, oddly, happening in and around Holy Week this year).
Part of me wants to shout, "Hey, did you know it's Tuesday of Holy Week? Shouldn't you be doing something different this week? This is important stuff!" Then it occurs to me—we're not that different than people 2,000 years ago in Jerusalem. It was Tuesday of Holy Week. Pilate was busy getting ready for the his "exhausting" day of leisure, trying to get the business done early so he could relax. He hated Jerusalem, and wished he were back in Caesarea. Roman soldiers were watching carefully, making sure there were no problems during this Passover week. Ordinary, normal people were listening to a teacher from Galilee who was saying some strange, startling things, even predicting the end of Jerusalem, which to them would certainly have equated with the end of the world. People would have been purchasing food in the market. Mothers would have been cooking meals for their families. Children would have played in the courtyards. Fathers would be going to work or debating religious ideas at the Temple. A normal, ordinary day. Just another Tuesday.
Except that it's not. That teacher from Galilee is nearing the end of his life. He knows it, and some people plotting in the shadows are hoping for it. His closest followers are about to have their nice, neat, comfortable world turned upside down. Pilate will soon become known as the arbiter of the most unjust trial in history. Were it not for Pilate's actions on Friday, he might never have really been remembered. And the people in the homes who just two days ago cried, "Hosanna" will soon be shouting, "Crucify!"
It's Tuesday of Holy Week. Just another Tuesday, and not just another Tuesday. Things are moving toward Friday...and Sunday. Are you ready? Are you prepared? It's Tuesday of Holy Week. Big things are coming.
But it's Tuesday of Holy Week. And I'm sitting behind my computer, watching people go here and there, doing the things they do, most likely, every Tuesday, maybe every day. People going to work. People getting groceries. People drinking coffee. People having conversations, many discussing the NCAA tournament (that other worship experience that is, oddly, happening in and around Holy Week this year).
Part of me wants to shout, "Hey, did you know it's Tuesday of Holy Week? Shouldn't you be doing something different this week? This is important stuff!" Then it occurs to me—we're not that different than people 2,000 years ago in Jerusalem. It was Tuesday of Holy Week. Pilate was busy getting ready for the his "exhausting" day of leisure, trying to get the business done early so he could relax. He hated Jerusalem, and wished he were back in Caesarea. Roman soldiers were watching carefully, making sure there were no problems during this Passover week. Ordinary, normal people were listening to a teacher from Galilee who was saying some strange, startling things, even predicting the end of Jerusalem, which to them would certainly have equated with the end of the world. People would have been purchasing food in the market. Mothers would have been cooking meals for their families. Children would have played in the courtyards. Fathers would be going to work or debating religious ideas at the Temple. A normal, ordinary day. Just another Tuesday.
Except that it's not. That teacher from Galilee is nearing the end of his life. He knows it, and some people plotting in the shadows are hoping for it. His closest followers are about to have their nice, neat, comfortable world turned upside down. Pilate will soon become known as the arbiter of the most unjust trial in history. Were it not for Pilate's actions on Friday, he might never have really been remembered. And the people in the homes who just two days ago cried, "Hosanna" will soon be shouting, "Crucify!"
It's Tuesday of Holy Week. Just another Tuesday, and not just another Tuesday. Things are moving toward Friday...and Sunday. Are you ready? Are you prepared? It's Tuesday of Holy Week. Big things are coming.
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