In decades past, upon arriving home from my travels, I rushed to the photo-finishing shop, in a hurry to drop off undeveloped film, eager to see the snapshots of memories made. A few days later, I pushed the glass door open again as the cling-clang of the bell announced my arrival. I joined the curving line of curious customers, each eager to see moments captured through camera lens.
Flipping through freshly printed glossy photos, I revisited travel days. Snow glistened and sparkled in a thick mound at the base of the white-barked aspen tree. I thought of those suspended cold moments when I firmly believed that my numb toes would never thaw. Depictions of a savory meal found me salivating. I recalled rosemary’s earthy taste, feta’s tang, and pineapple’s sweetness atop char-grilled salmon. My friend’s laugh lines displayed in the plane of a photo rustled up a chuckle. I could hear her say the punchline. I basked in wonder at her sense of humor.
Images evoke memories, sensory experiences, and emotions, don’t they? We remember the hope and the heavenly moments of joy. We celebrate. We turn back the clock to experience plans and words gone awry. We grieve.
Within each journey, we hold both hope and grief, don’t we? The same holds true for Holy Week.
Scanning Snapshots of Holy Week
Imagine who or what would fill your snapshots from Holy Week. Let’s glance through the stack of imagined images.
Sunday’s photos would show King Jesus riding a donkey, welcomed by an adoring crowd waving palm branches.
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”
“Hosanna in the highest!”
Celebration and holy hope shimmer bright in the air.
Monday and Tuesday Jewish leaders, disciples, and the bustling crowds engaged with Jesus. Overturned tables at the temple and the oddly withered fig tree at the roadside turn time back to those unexpected moments.
“It is written,” he [Jesus] said to them, “‘My house will be called a house of prayer,’ but you are making it a ‘den of robbers.’”
Anger darkens earlier moments of hope. Disappointment ripples in the air.
An alabaster jar jars your memory. You wrinkle your nose as you recall the extravagant scent of adoration.
“Why are you bothering this woman? She has done a beautiful thing to me.”
Questions arise. What is Jesus thinking? What would prompt Jesus to speak of death when He’s just been the delight of Sunday’s parade? Confusion sets in. You notice sorrow, and joy. Is this a time of hope or grief, or both?
Peter and John scurried as they prepared for a gathering in an upper room, not knowing what will later happen around the table that Thursday evening. Laughter and festivities around the table give way to mysterious words.
“Take and eat; this is my body.
Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”
Body and blood? Forgiveness and covenants? Feet being washed and betrayals predicted ripple through the evening’s events.
“I tell you the truth,” Jesus answered, “this very night, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.”
But Peter declared, “Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you.”
Yet, even knowing what lay ahead, Jesus offered comfort to the twelve disciples gathered in that upper room.
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you.”
This seems both consoling and upsetting, hope mingled with grief. Jesus warned of troubles in need of calming while warming hope with words of goodness to come.
In one snapshot, the sly look on Judas’s face now foretells grief. It holds clues of what stirred in that dark heart. None could have imagined the horrid plan enacted as he betrayed Jesus. Revolted by such betrayal, shock shook the ones left in the room. Hope feels elusive.
A Snapshot of A Dark Night
An evening of prayer followed the evening of togetherness. Though Mount of Olives was too dark for photos, yet Jesus’ words still illuminated the scene.
“Could you men not keep watch with me for one hour?”
Sleeping disciples, a Gethsemane arrest, the high priest’s residence and mock trials all pierced the night. A jeering crowd and a rooster in mid-crow call out as the night rolls out of control towards chaos. Looking at the photos, you feel the tightness of your chest as you hold your breath, as tears cascade. These snapshots catch moments thick with embarrassment, sorrow, and regret, all of which reverberate in your mind’s eye.
Mary Magdalene, Joseph of Arimathea, unnamed guards, beloved women, and the taunting crowd all show up, too, in your pile of photos. So do other faces you know and love alongside images that haunt with their dark despicable moments, like the shadow of Herod and the photograph of Pilate. You recall the volatile volley of words between the crowd and Pilate:
“Crucify him!”
“Why? What crime has he committed?
“Crucify him!”
“I am innocent of this man’s blood. It is your responsibility!”
The storm on Friday happened first on the cross as Jesus cried out:
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Then an earthquake shakes the camera and all around you, even as darkening clouds froth for three hours overhead as it harrows your heart.
Grief unspeakable obscures the people and the world you thought you knew. Sorrow’s shadows boldly encapsulate Friday and Saturday scenes. Silence and fear reign.
A Snapshot of A Bright Dawn
Somehow the sun comes up again as Sunday dawns.
No snapshots captured stories you heard whispered. What’s all that about? What could it all mean? What’s happened to the women, to Mary Magdalene, to Peter, to John, to Cleopas on the Emmaus Road, and to others along the way? You hear snippets, yet don’t have any reliable photos to review the situation.
Yet still, the stories planted snapshots in your imagination.
Places and images placed other stories and revived memories, too, along the path of the week: a road strewn with palms, the busy courtyard of the temple, the upper room filled with a band of followers of Jesus, the lonely garden where One prays and others nod off to sleep, the crackling glow of a fire as Roman trials ignite the crowd and fierce denials, a stark thorny crown, green branches used for worship of the King and other menacing branches which caused great suffering on the back of Jesus.
The dusty road to the Cross. The stranger who helped carry the thick wooden instrument of doom, the tears shed, and cries heard on a hill among guards, thieves and robbers. A mother’s cry.
A tomb enclosed an enormous rock and towering guards overshadowed by bright rumors of that gigantic immovable stone being removed.
Grief tumbles all around. Then the dark gives way to dawn.
Words come of angels aglow, of a gardener who knew Mary’s name, of a stack of linens in the once-sealed tomb, but no Jesus.
Curiosity swells.
“He is not here. He is risen.”
In the turn of a week, the turn of the universe happened. What started with Joy then held Horror. What was filled with Horror then held Joy again.
Palm Sunday to Good Friday to Holy Saturday to Resurrection Easter Day moves from hope to despair and, miraculously, back to hope again.
The journey of Holy Week is both Jesus’ journey and ours. Hope and horror; horror and hope.
In death, new life.
Without Jesus’ death, no true life.
All through Holy Week, the refrain continues:
We Behold Hope!
We Behold Grief.
We Behold Hope!
We Behold Grief.
In the end, we are those who behold hope forevermore even as we’ve traveled the dust of grief.
Hope rises.
Grief no longer holds us down.
We too peer into the tomb and discover it is empty. Death is no longer the victor.
Jesus conquered hell and the grave. He rose and, because of that, so shall we.
“Christ the Lord is risen today.”
“Alleluia. He is risen indeed.”
Behold hope!
Reflection questions:
- What seven moments of Holy Week would you capture in photographs?
- What captures your emotions and imagination in the seven moments you would photograph of Holy Week?
- What would you say to Jesus in a letter as you look through His days during Holy Week? Write that letter to Him now.
- Who do you most identify with during Holy Week?
- When did the horror of Good Friday first impact you?
- What is it like to experience the hope of Easter morning?
- How will you behold hope in fresh ways this year?
Resources for Prayerfulness during Holy Week
- Stations of the Cross – Visio Divina guide
- Worship Celebration: Christ is Risen, He is Risen Indeed– Keith and Kristyn Gettys
- Holy Week Timeline
