But sometimes in the midst of the busyness of our preparations for the main event, those smaller, more quiet moments are lost. They become afterthoughts - elements that we recognize as necessary, but which aren't flashy enough to garner their own service. They are too depressing, too quiet, too ugly.
I get that. Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday. These aren't celebratory days. What happened on these days is terrible. I don't like being reminded that I would have likely been a part of the crowd, one days shouting "Hosanna!", the next, raising my fist and screaming, "Crucify him!"
But I can't allow myself to push these to the back. I can't make them days that are tacked on to the "real holiday."
The pain, the anguish, the agony. Without them, there is no Easter.
So on Thursday, our worship team is going to rehearse. We'll tighten up the music. We'll fix the transitions. We'll adjust the lighting. We'll prepare ourselves for the celebration on Sunday.
But we'll also take a moment to break bread together. We'll remember another group of friends celebrating this same rite thousands of years ago. We'll do this as they did, not as an afterthought, but as a celebration. A celebration of deliverance and a celebration of what is yet to come.
This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. You can read more submissions and add your own here.