by Bryan M. Cones

The 40 days of Lent have been described by many as a journey with Christ to Calvary, passing through the cross to Easter’s resurrection. Its disciplines of fasting, almsgiving, and prayer slowly strip away the distractions that keep us from following that way more closely. In this "stripping," we journey with those who are preparing for Baptism and Holy Communion at the Vigil of Easter, those who are preparing to enter the paschal mystery we celebrate and live.

Yet the days of Lent do not simply fade away. They lead us to a more intense time of preparation and celebration, when to the disciplines of Lent are added the services of Holy Week, which, like fasting, almsgiving, and prayer, re-form us powerfully into the image of Christ we received in our baptism. Whether we celebrate these liturgies with the community or not, their signs and symbols reveal to us the significance of these days. Each moment leads us more deeply into what living as Christ’s disciples requires of us.

SUNDAY OF THE PASSION, PALM SUNDAY
The first moment in our Holy Week journey is, of course, Palm Sunday, a day of both triumph and tragedy. We begin worship in joy, waving palms to greet the Savior, crying out as did those gathered in Jerusalem centuries ago, "Hosanna to the Son of David." We acclaim a king, remembering always that his reign is not one of domination, but of service; his royal steed, after all, is a humble donkey.

But our procession, like all our Holy Week worship, is not mere reenactment; by moving our bodies, crying out in acclamation and song, we enter deeply the beginning of the paschal mystery, not just with our minds but with our whole selves. Though we do not rejoice in Jesus’ death itself — it was, after all, a great injustice — we indeed give thanks that God’s plan of salvation has come to fullness in Jesus and is coming to completion in us. The mystery we celebrate is not relegated to the past; it is powerful and active in the present, and it propels toward the future, when God’s reign will be revealed in all its fullness.

Our joyful procession leads us to a somber destination, the reading of the Passion, this year according to Mark. Having joined Jesus in his joyful entry, we faithfully follow him also to suffering and death; his kingly throne is the rough-hewn wood of the cross. We cannot pretend, even for a second, that this journey ends anywhere but there. And where our Savior goes, we must follow. Palm Sunday is, in a sense, an overture to all of Holy Week.

MONDAY, TUESDAY, AND WEDNESDAY OF HOLY WEEK
Although we do not gather in church to mark the days between Palm Sunday and Maundy Thursday, they are days of preparation, a time of silence and prayer. We reflect on Jesus’ growing awareness of what lay before him, on the great test of faithfulness he must have endured, perhaps even on his fear that he would not be up to the task.

Wednesday reveals an even greater sorrow: Jesus’ betrayal by one of those closest to him. We remember that like so many people in our own day, Jesus experienced abandonment, rejection by his friends, the terror of being truly alone.

Yet we also take comfort in Jesus’ perseverance to the end, even in the face of betrayal. We, too, face anxiety, challenges to faithfulness, betrayal by those we love and trust. But with Christ’s strength bearing us up, we can face the trials before us.

MAUNDY THURSDAY
Lent passes with the setting sun on Thursday of Holy Week, leaving us at the doorstep of the holiest moment of the church year: the three days of the Triduum. In these days we celebrate the paschal mystery of Jesus’ suffering, death, and resurrection in such great solemnity that we cannot help but be changed.

Maundy Thursday begins simply: A brief instruction leads us to a confession of sin and a sign of peace, acknowledging that only when the body of believers is reconciled to God and one another can we take up our worship.

The heart of Maundy Thursday — the commemoration of the Last Supper — is, surprisingly, a Gospel lesson about the supper that leaves out the bread and wine! Though we do not forget the elements of Holy Communion, John’s Gospel reminds us that the fruit of our communion must be service: "If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you" (John 13:14–15). Our communion is empty if the Christ whose body and blood we share does not bear the fruit of service within us.

If Jesus’ words alone weren’t enough to make the point, the washing of feet after the Gospel proclamation shapes us powerfully, inviting us to make visible in our bodies the Gospel we have heard and acclaimed. Together we accept the challenge to be servants of all, especially those in need. Though sometimes it is only the minister who performs this task, the Gospel makes clear that Christ commands all his disciples to the same duty.

In some congregations, the entire assembly takes part in this action, washing and being washed, profoundly embodying the charge to do the same in the world around us. The naked feet alone, worn and rough, without the shoes and socks that protect and comfort, reveal our common vulnerability, our common humanity, the common toll that the road of life exacts on bodies and spirits.

Thursday offers a final poignant moment: the stripping of the altar. Though merely a preparation for the stark Good Friday service, it recalls Jesus’ own "stripping" — of honor, of authority, even of clothing — to become a common prisoner. It cannot help but remind us of those who have also been stripped of everything, even their human dignity, and call us to their aid. It recalls as well our own Lenten stripping, through which our fasting, almsgiving, and prayer has awakened us to the demands of our baptism. Even the sounds of worship are stripped as we leave in silence, without even a benediction to bear us up.

GOOD FRIDAY
The solemnity of Good Friday is matched only by that of Easter itself; Christians see Jesus’ death as the climax of his self-offering to God, the culmination of an entire life given for the world’s salvation. Such generosity leaves us filled with awe and wonder.

Three moments mark our celebration of Good Friday: the solemn reading (even singing) of John’s Passion, the long and ancient bidding prayers for the sake of the world, and the solemn meditation before the cross.

Though Palm Sunday also included a Passion reading (always from Matthew, Mark, or Luke, depending on the year), Good Friday’s Gospel is always from John. His account is one of complete triumph: Jesus never falters, is always in command, challenges his accusers, and finally reigns as king from the cross. For John, Jesus’ death is his glorification as well.

Though it seems a paradox, we Christians do glory in Christ’s cross, for through it God has redeemed the world. Even in our most humbling moments, we already share Christ’s victory over sin and death. Even the greatest suffering cannot undo what Christ has accomplished.

The bidding prayers, among the most ancient in Christianity, like the washing of feet on Maundy Thursday, reveal again the heart of our ministry as baptized people. Just as no Christian life is complete without service, so too our baptismal priesthood is left unfulfilled unless we intercede with God on behalf of all the world. Our prayers are joined to Christ’s ultimate prayer on the cross, and so we solemnly pray for the church and its ministers, for those preparing for baptism, for the unity of Christians, for the Jewish people, for all believers and those who do not believe, for civil leaders, for the sick and dying — in short, for everyone.

Indeed, it is our duty and privilege to pray with Christ to God for the salvation of the world, not just on Good Friday but every day, in every moment.

When our voices fall silent, we stand, maybe even kneel, once again before the mystery of Christ’s saving death: "Behold, the life-giving cross on which was hung the salvation of the whole world," the minister announces; "Oh, come, let us worship him," the congregation responds (Lutheran Book of Worship, Minister’s Desk Edition, p. 142). In one exchange we summarize the Christian life, one lived always before the mystery of Christ’s saving death. As an expression of both awe and wonder, some Christian communities kiss, embrace, or venerate the cross in some other way, for in its shadow we have been redeemed.

HOLY SATURDAY
It is easy to forget Holy Saturday; with no church service of its own, it seems but an afterthought, a necessary length of time to get to the "third day" before Christ’s resurrection. But it can be a deeply poignant time, a time to rest in the deep silence of the tomb. We live a Holy Saturday much of our lives, a time of holy waiting for the fullness of God’s promise.

In this time we are separated from loved ones who have gone before us, and we suffer with those who are dying. In this time the world groans still beneath the weight of death, drowned by hurricanes, shaken by earthquakes, choked by pollution. In this time the poor await the fullness of the good news promised them, laboring under the heavy burden of injustice, racism, war, and disease. In this time the dead await the trumpet’s call to glory.

But in this time Christ waits as well, sharing the sleep of death, embracing our humanity even into the depths of the earth, into the darkness of the tomb. This is Holy Saturday’s good news: Our God accompanies us not just to death but beyond. Emmanuel, God-with-us, is indeed with us even in death’s dark valley.

And so we wait in silence on Holy Saturday for the sun to set. We wait in silence for the Son to rise. We wait in silence for life without end.

Bryan M. Cones, a Chicago writer and editor, holds a master’s degree in liturgy from Catholic Theological Union.