A [not-so-]Holy Week

I had plans for my Holy Week.

I was going to pray more, reflect more, and "pour myself out on the Lord as Mary Magdalene did" (a striking reflection from my devotion on Monday). It was going to be deeply impactful, let me tell you.

And I was going to blog. Every night. Yep, I had ideas for blog posts for every night of Holy Week.

According to my plans, my Holy Week has been a failure. My personal prayer time has been small, my time for reflection even smaller, and though I feel empty I can't say it's because I've been busy pouring myself out on the Lord.

And since I'm writing this on Holy Saturday and haven't blogged since Monday...there went that idea, too.

Yet as I look back at the week, I realize that I may not have lived my Holy Week the way I wanted to...but I may have lived it in step with Jesus more than I thought.

I wanted to tell you about the Apostles on Palm Sunday. How they were joyful and perhaps a little boastful or prideful as they processed triumphantly through the street. How they wanted to let people know they were with Jesus, one of His friends. Yet a few nights later they would run from Him in confusion and fear.

Instead I lived it. I was excited about Holy Week, chattering away about my love for the Triduum and traditions and this victorious Jesus we serve. Yet how quickly my energy and passion faded as the week got more difficult, as conflicts and crosses popped up. Fear weaseled its way in and I forgot--or chose not to--trust that same Jesus.

I wanted to set aside time to be with Jesus in the Garden, comforting Him, appreciating and imitating His steadfastness.

Instead I found myself in my own agony, feeling darkness pressing in, anxious and distracted and stressed. Yet I found immense comfort in the fact that this Savior was also a suffering Servant who had experienced some of these same emotions (Isaiah 53.)

I planned on attending Holy Thursday Mass with P. and celebrating the Eucharist together.

Instead the night found me rushing around and slipping alone into a pew at my home parish, still stressed and distracted from the unexpected crosses of the week. Yet the reality and beauty of the night penetrated my heart and mind and tears flowed as I followed the procession with Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament and then quietly stayed with Him in the chapel for awhile.

On Good Friday, I wanted to watch the Passion of the Christ and get together with one of my girlfriends from far away who is home for the weekend. I wanted to fast on bread and water and remember Jesus' Sacrifice throughout the day.

Instead I battled sleep deprivation, did the minimum for fasting, and cancelled with my girlfriend. I was frustrated by the busy-ness of my week, the downcast attitude of my heart, and the heartache of imperfection. Yet redemption found its way into the evening as I quietly sat alone in candlelight, reading the Passion narrative in the Gospel of Luke.

My Holy Week was so completely different than I had planned. Several unforeseen circumstances became crosses. I became preoccupied with them and at times overwhelmed by them. I was discouraged that I wasn't praying more, reflecting more, and staying in the present moment with love for my neighbor.

But I was missing the big picture of what Holy Week is all about.

Redemption. A Savior. One who teaches us that victory is found in the cross. That love is a sacrifice and not alway a fuzzy feeling. That sometimes life is blood, sweat, and tears. And that's okay. He still uses that in big ways.

So if your Holy Week didn't feel very holy, take heart. I don't think it did to Jesus, either.

And remember...

The Resurrection is coming, my friends.