When I converted to the United Methodist tradition in my early twenties, I remember observing my first Holy Week. I attended church every night not knowing what to expect. Each night brought a different aspect of the final nights that Jesus was physically present with us. The liturgies were unique and fulfilling.
Many years have passed, but the excitement never fades. I can recite most of the liturgical parts by heart now, and one might argue that so many years saying the same thing can get repetitive and boring. That may be true for some people, but not for me. I never lose sight of the power of the words, the critical reflection on the part of me that is at my very core.
Each year I think about what it must have been like for Jesus as He continued through the darkest of times. I know how it feels when life appears to offer no hope. All is lost, and despair takes over our hearts. It is a very exhausting place to be. And as I reflect on Jesus, I grow deeper in my faith knowing that He grieved as I have many times.
My God knows what it is like to be in darkness. He understands me when I feel like I am in a place without light. We grieve together through these times. And through His tears, I am reminded that I am a child of the Most-High God. Worry will pass, and hope will be restored. But for a moment, we sit together until I can stand and walk again. Sometimes I recover at a pretty fast pace, but there are times that it takes a while. However long it takes, I know that the God of my understanding is patient with me, waiting for the storm to pass.
Today, in Jerusalem, I am grateful for worshiping a God that stays with me through the roughest of circumstances. We will make it to Easter. The Divine reassured us that our sadness will turn to dancing. Praise be to God, who gives us the victory in His Son.