It is not Holy Week without
the heralds shouting hosannas and hallelujahs
with an imagination that all is well,
will be well,
that the Messiah is come.
Holy Week involves the turn
from joy to lament
from hosanna to horror
from orientation to disorientation
imagined triumph to witnessed terrors
we sing and celebrate
our feet are washed
our passover transformed
we fall asleep while our saviour weeps alone
we deny even knowing him
even as we have imagined ruling with him
Holy Week reminds us that we have no imagination
for what might be
what will come
the pathways we’d never choose
Holy Week reminds us
in the great disorientations of our own lives
to wait in the darkness
for a dawn that transforms
It’s been a while but I am on the other side of my thesis, on the other side of poetry written for a specific purpose. I am back to the shallow ground that has hardened from neglect. Looking to find my way back.
I am so taken with this turn from the triumphant start of Holy Week – the Palm Sunday hosannas, to a total disorientation, when everything is confused and makes no sense. How much this week encapsulates what it is to be a person on a faith journey where the one you follow refuses to give you all the powerful happy endings you think the story requires.
Holy Week reminds me of the women who set out in the dark – not with any hope for a different narrative, disoriented in grief and were offered a complete reorientation. It feels like a worthy meditation for this season.
Miriam Jessie x