Holy Week spans the Sunday of Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem to the Sunday in which Jesus is raised from the dead. How might I focus simply on the events leading to what we now call “Easter Sunday?” Today, I ask the Lord to grant me a deeper understanding of the gift of mercy and grace found in His Son.
In worship, I wave my hands toward the Lord and sing “Hosannas.”
I praise God for His Just-ness revealed in Jesus as He cleansed the temple in Jerusalem.
Gasping, I think of the Sanhedrin challenging the authority of the One True God.
Mary teaches me how to worship as she anointed Jesus at Bethany.
Meditating on the Passover Meal, I think of how Christ shows me how to do this in remembrance of Him. The Bread and the Wine representing the Body and Blood of Jesus. A Memorial.
Christ is our Intercessor. I think of Him praying for me even now; and yet, I sleep, like the disciples in the garden, when I should keep watch.
I reflect on the feeble and temporal sufferings I have experienced in this life, and then look to the betrayal and arrest of my Lord in the Garden of Gethsemane.
The Via Dolorosa, the Jerusalem street of suffering, that Good Friday, mapped the way that my Lord willingly walked to Golgotha.
Questioned. Condemned. Denied. Tried. Beaten. Mocked. Sentenced to death like a criminal. He answered not.
My Lord carried His own cross. He persevered. He endured. He loved.
“Hosannas” shifted to shouts of “Crucify! Crucify Him!”
The Nails. The Crown of Thorns upon His brow. Lots for His garments. A sword-pierced side. The sins of all mankind placed upon the Sinless One. He breathed His last. He died.
The earth trembled and the veil split.
Buried in the tomb and sealed, prophecy foretold that He was led like a “lamb to the slaughter.”
Weeping may endure for a night…
…But oh, that glorious morn! Resurrection Sunday. He is not here! The price is paid. His righteousness for my sins. My Jesus is alive!
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