Holy Week

With Holy Week upon us, I find myself falling into my annual reflection on what it really means to be a Christian. This has long been tradition for me–as a teenager I would often fast through Good Friday or do some other form of meditative contemplation on the day marking the sacrifice of our Lord. But the most pivotal of these days came when I was fifteen and will forever be etched in my mind.

It started with a nasty fight with my best friend. Great way to start a holy day, huh? The result? I sat down, stared out of the bay window in my parents’ house, took in the rolling mountains all around me, and felt utterly alone. For me, deep feelings have one outlet: writing.

I wrote a story that poured from that hurt part of myself, one which surprised me with its intensity. It was about a woman in the crowd at Jesus’s crucifixion, one who had not until then been a follower but who was forever changed by the touch of a stray drop of His blood. But unlike some of the stories that I wrote, this one wouldn’t leave me alone with its completion. It dug in deeper with each passing year, grew more complicated. The simple character that I developed at first through a first person narrative became a young woman with an identity all her own, one who sometimes frustrated me, sometimes inspired me, and sometimes simply confounded me. I ended up telling her story in a novel sharing the name of that original short story, A Stray Drop of Blood.

As I wrote it–which took six years–I really had to get down to the bones of my faith. I had to examine every word of the Gospels’ accounts of what really happened on the day we call Good Friday. I had to wash myself in the awe of the resurrection as something miraculous and unheard of instead of just nodding through that story I’ve heard every year, every week. I had to make it new for myself–and for someone who grew up in church and never rebelled against it, that was actually quite a task.

I’d like to challenge everyone to do that, too, this week–read the Gospel accounts. Matthew 27. Mark 15. Luke 23. John 19. You’ll find some things that are surprising. The graves opened, and the dead were seen walking around. The earth actually shook, and the sun was darkened. The soldiers guarding the tomb were struck with a stupor that paralyzed them. Things we’ve heard time and again, yes, but some of them we tend to forget. And for me, one of the most amazing things of all can be found in Matthew 27:25. When Pilate washes his hands of Jesus’s blood, the mob cries out, "Let His blood be on us and our children!"

My first thought when I reread this was one of horror. What person, mob mentality or not, would wish the blood of an innocent man on their children? Looking at my innocent little kids, I can’t imagine wanting them to be responsible for someone else’s unjust death. But then I thought again. And again. Because the truth is this: regardless of their words, His blood is on our hands, over our heads. We’re the guilty ones. It’s our fault He was killed so brutally. My sins that sent Him to his death. I’m responsible–and yet. . . His blood doesn’t condemn. It justifies. Purifies. Isn’t that amazing? Awe inspiring? It literally brings tears to my eyes, and I’m not one prone to them. That is the epiphany I found that day when I was fifteen, and which I bring back out for examination every year. That those people cried out for His blood–and got it in a way they couldn’t have understood in that moment. They got its redemptive powers, if they were willing to take it.

There are many wonderful novels out there that attempt to capture the glory of this holiest of weeks–but for once, I’m going to insist you go for the non-fiction. Go back to the source, and find one thing–just one–that you haven’t noticed before in those Gospel accounts. I have a feeling it’ll make your whole week take on new meaning.

Read the original short story, A Stray Drop of Blood.

Wanna give me your take?  Questions, comments, silly statements?  Email me at BtL@ChristianReviewofBooks.com

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Celebrating the Tradition
To My Brother, the Stranger
Getting to the Final Version
Independent Thinking
Seeking the Spirit
The Family Curse
Confliction Over Conflict
In Love with Romance
Flourescent Light Words
I Like a Little Grit with My Story
Novels as Parables
Miracle of Miracles
Holy Week