Yesterday morning I sat at the counter in the kitchen eating french toast and looking over my schedule. Perhaps I was glaring over my schedule if such a thing is a thing one can do. This week is the busiest and most stressful of my year. Our annual Easter celebrations are marked by creativity in a variety of ways, and the scale and scope of what my team and I must pull together is a feat of immense proportions.
Moving artists of any kind toward a finish line of any kind can be a daunting exercise under any circumstances, and these are not just any circumstances.
The coming week, Holy Week, will be one fraught with challenges, frustrations, and tears, but it will also be filled with intense excitement, new revelations, and cries of joy. I will experience the highest of highs and some very low lows. These things are inevitable, determined by the choice I've made to do what I do.
I do this because I love this.
And so I gazed at my calendar with a familiar mix of both anticipation and dread.
Suddenly, I was transported to the dramatic entrance of Jesus into the crowded streets of Jerusalem as multicolored cloaks and palm fronds paved the road beneath the donkey upon which he rode. Luke tells us that, just before this moment of jubilation, Jesus had sat on a hillside overlooking the city, weeping over the blindness of those within its walls.
What contradictory emotions he must have experienced! He was bringing the only hope worth hoping for while simultaneously marching closer toward his death. He was ushering in a beautiful new kingdom all the while recognizing that many of those who had been his cherished people would not ever acknowledge him as King.
The week ahead of him would be fraught with challenges, frustrations, and tears, but it would also be filled with intense excitement, new revelations, and cries of joy. He and his followers would experience the highest of highs and the very lowest of lows. These things were inevitable, determined by the choice he'd made to do what he would do.
He did this because he loves us.
My experience cannot compare to his, and yet, this small insight—this moment of solidarity with the one who has given me security—has allowed me to enter into this week with new eyes. And that is a gift of grace for which I am abundantly thankful.