An Evangelical Slant on Holy Week

This journal probably won’t be what you would expect from and Evangelical. . .just sayin’. . .

Holy Week here in Antigua is a time I usually approach with mixed emotions.  I love remembering what Jesus did for me.  I’ve not been so fond of the way it is celebrated in Guatemala.  I hate the crowds and congestion that come to Antigua during this week.

This year, however, God has been working in me through the various processions I’ve experienced this week.  It all began Palm Sunday, when I looked out the window of my church and saw “Jesus” riding down the street on a donkey.  The Catholic Church down the street was re-enacting Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem.  At first I thought, this is kinda cool.  As I reflected on it a bit more, I thought about how surprised I was to see “Jesus” riding down the street.  And I realized that this was probably exactly the reaction of the people in Jerusalem on the Sunday He entered the city on a donkey.  Something special is going on here. . .

Today I witnessed two of the major processions that occur here in Antigua.  When I saw these processions for the first time more than six years ago, I have to admit they kind of “weirded me out.”  And I realize there is a lot of superstition and ritualism that goes into these celebrations.  But this year, I’ve learned something new from them.

As I watched the “cucuruchus” carrying the statue of Jesus carrying His cross down the street today, I was struck by how much these processions teach about the events of Holy Week.  I realized they are not that much different from the Passion Plays we currently have, or even the morality plays of the 15th and 16th centuries.  They teach the truths of Scripture, often to people who can’t read.  And while I by far would prefer that people go directly to the truth of Bible, I realize that even here in Antigua, a substantial number of people are illiterate.  And I appreciated a bit more the reasons behind the processions.

I also appreciated how, for me at least, today’s processions made the experience of that first Holy Week a little more real.  I always am in prayer during this week for the people and city of Antigua—for those things that separate this place and its residents from the God who loves them, for those who know ritual and religion but have no experience of relationship with Jesus.  Today, as I was asking God, “What does all this really mean?” He showed me something new.  He showed me that as much as I hate the crowds and confusion, this, too, was part of the reality of that first Holy Week. 

The streets here are crowded with people who want to honor God (as much as I might disagree with their beliefs about why and how they must do this, I realize most are sincere in their desire to please God).  They are also filled with tourists who want to experience the “local color” and merchants who are hawking their wares.  Some are patient, some aggressive, some indifferent.  But you can’t help but find yourself overcome by the sea of humanity that is Antigua this week. 

I realized that, as Jesus carried his cross through the streets of Jerusalem, things were very similar.  The roads are rough rock, similar to those we have here.  The buildings even look a little bit the same on the outside.  And I imagine there was a sea of humanity crushing around Him that Friday, the same mixture we had today. 

Some were there out of simple curiosity; there were probably those there taking advantage of the crowd to sell what they could.  Then there were those, like Mary the mother of Jesus, and John, and the women, who truly loved Him and were there only for that reason.  And I tasted first hand a little bit of the emotion of those who were following Jesus out of love, and the frustration they must have had with those who were crowding around for less honorable motives.  I don’t know if my words can convey this, but this profoundly affected me on many levels.

A short time later, a group of women came down the street, carrying a statue of Mary.  While I don’t want to discuss the differences in the way Catholics and Evangelicals view this woman, I did gain a greater appreciation for the role she played in the story of salvation, and for the pain she willingly bore out of loyalty to her Son.  God brought to mind how I suffer emotionally and even spiritually when my son, Jon, who is a Marine, is deployed to a combat zone.  There is a constant ache in my heart that is always just below the surface of my awareness, and often manifests as an acute stabbing sensation in my heart.  How I continually had to fight  my fear for his safety and surrender him to the care of the Father.  I imagine Mary must have experienced something much more profound as she look on her suffering Son.

I can’t imagine the torture of this mother as she watched Jesus walk to Calvary.  The torment she experienced as she stood helplessly by His side and watched His life drip out of Him on the cross.  She freely chose to be there when she could just as easily have hidden at home and protected herself from this pain.  But she was there out of love, willing to endure whatever was necessary to show her love of Jesus.  This was confirmed for me in an interesting way a few moments later when another statue came down a different street—at the back of the platform was another statue of “The Sorrowful Mother,” but at the front of the platform was a statue of Simeon holding the Baby Jesus.  And I remembered his prophecy to Mary—that a sword would pierce her heart, and its fulfillment this dreadful Friday.

I couldn’t help but admire the strength of this woman, and her unfailing loyalty and devotion to Jesus.  It made me want to be more like her. . .one who sticks with Jesus regardless of the personal cost.  I can only hope He finds me half as faithful. . .

I’ve learned much this Holy Week.  I have a clearer image of just how much He suffered for me.  I’m starting to appreciate those things which unite all Christians, rather than focus on that which divides.  I’m looking for Jesus wherever I can find Him, even in places I think unlikely.  I think I’m al little bit closer to Him than I was when this week started.  And, really, isn’t that what it’s all about?