As a toddler, my twin and I might often stage elaborate bake-offs throughout the school holidays. One yr, I made an Easter cake with three chocolate crosses and a crown of thorns. I drowned these elements in large pools of jammy blood.
Sure, it was gratuitously gruesome—and I’m not surprised my sister’s saccharine fluffy chick cupcakes were the favored selection. But from an early age, I actually have shirked the propensity to avoid the grittiness of Easter. To me, its bloodiness is the very reason the Cross brings a lot hope.
Many Christians all over the world will rejoice Palm Sunday this weekend to commemorate Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Some 2,000 years ago, crowds of Jews laid out palm branches on public streets to welcome their “Messiah”—the conquering king who they believed would overthrow the Roman government and liberate them from its hostile occupation.
While many oppressed people today still desperately need this type of physical deliverance, Jesus’ journey didn’t end there. Instead, his road to Jerusalem culminated within the Cross, which brought a wholly different sort of liberation.
Palm Sunday marks the beginning of Holy Week, the times leading as much as Jesus’ betrayal, death, and resurrection. It is a period from the traditional church calendar when Christians sit up for the victory of Easter Sunday with joyful anticipation.
But it is usually a time of great sorrow—marked by suffering, betrayal, and brokenness. And for this reason, it speaks powerfully to those whose countries, relationships, or mental health situations are increasingly unstable. In a world desperately in need of hope, we cannot just brush past the anguish of Holy Week and move straight to the triumph of Easter.
The early days of Holy Week hint at the upcoming doom.
Holy Monday (also generally known as Holy and Great Monday) marks the day Jesus cursed the fig tree for not producing fruit after which overturned the tables within the temple. On the following day, Holy Tuesday, Jesus continued teaching in Jerusalem, difficult the religious leaders, and informing the disciples of his impending crucifixion. The infuriation displayed by the teachers of the law sets the stage for the following few days of Jesus’ life.
Holy Wednesday (also generally known as Spy Wednesday) is an especially dark day, which refers to Judas Iscariot’s betrayal of Jesus. Judas’ duplicity would have been immensely painful for Jesus. He was not a detached observer on the periphery but one in all Jesus’ core group of disciples—an in depth friend and traveling companion. This tragedy is deepened when Judas later regrets his decision to help in Jesus’ death but is unable to reverse it, and so tragically chooses to finish his own life.
Yet even within the darkest moments, there’s hope. Jesus’ first words from the Cross were “Father, forgive them, for they have no idea what they’re doing” (Luke 23:34). Perhaps Jesus was assuring his friend (amongst others) that each one was not lost—that regardless of how deep our depravity, there’s all the time the promise of transformation.
Some churches rejoice a Maundy Thursday meal together in a re-creation of Jesus’ last supper along with his disciples. There, through their eating and drinking, Jesus informed his followers that his body could be broken and that his blood could be shed—for them and for a lot of.
Later that evening, within the Garden of Gethsemane, as his death grew closer and plenty of abandoned him, Jesus’ sweat apparently fell like drops of blood (Luke 22:44). Some speculate he can have been affected by hematohidrosis, a rare medical condition where the capillaries across the sweat glands rupture under extreme distress and trauma.
Good Friday could seem an inappropriate name for a day marked by bloodshed, suffering, and death. But the ostensibly bad achieves the nice—as Jesus’ broken body on the cross becomes the source of humanity’s redemption. C. S. Lewis wrote in Mere Christianity, “His death has washed out our sins, and … by dying He disabled death itself.” The cross, which was an instrument of death (and a slow, shameful, brutal one at that), ultimately becomes a logo of life.
Yet in our try and rush from the horror of Good Friday to the enjoyment of Easter Sunday, a lot of us neglect Holy Saturday, the ultimate day of Holy Week.
Last Easter, I interviewed professor John Swinton, a former psychiatric nurse turned practical theologian, who said that Holy Saturday prevents us from developing a theology of glory—which glosses over the suffering of death and moves straight to the Resurrection. It reminds us that some persons are living in dark spaces and that we want to sit down with them of their despair, weeping with those that weep (Rom. 12:15).
Holy Saturday prompts us to take suffering seriously. It also assures us that we don’t struggle alone. Throughout his life, Jesus suffered pain at every possible level: physical, psychological, and spiritual. While this not at all eliminates our own pain, the biblical picture shows us that whatever we encounter—whether physical sickness, mental health struggles, or spiritual doubt—Jesus has been there. He not only knows about the depths of human emotion, but he has also experienced them.
Many people know the shortest verse within the Bible: “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). However, most English translations of the unique Greek don’t do that passage justice. Elsewhere, in verses 33 and 38, the identical Greek word for “weep” conveys a guttural depth of emotion—which can be translated “He snorted like an offended horse.” Jesus was not only sorrowful about his friend Lazarus’ death; he was offended because he knew life was not meant to be like this, nor would it not be eternally.
When we’re fragile, lost, and alone, a sugarcoated victory tale doesn’t resonate with our pain. We need a concrete hope that has plumbed the depths of despair, sweat blood, and experienced excruciating death—yet also declares this shouldn’t be the top of the story.
Friday is sweet because Easter Sunday is in sight. If Jesus indeed rose from the dead, then death doesn’t have the ultimate word. Holy Week and the events leading as much as Jesus’ crucifixion assure us we’re loved, we aren’t alone in our pain, and we’re value rescuing.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, I suffered a miscarriage—and in that point, Jesus’ nail-scarred hands and bloody body spoke more powerfully to me than ever. And after I later conceived and gave birth to a different baby, we named her Eden-Grace to function a reminder that loss shouldn’t be the top of our story. No matter how broken our lives at the moment are, we want never lose the hope of God’s promised restoration.
In J. R. R Tolkien’s The Return of the King, the hobbit Samwise Gamgee asks Gandalf, “Is every thing sad going to come back unfaithful?” For us, the reply is yes. Jesus’ resurrection helps us make sense of the Cross, however it also provides a way out of our suffering. That is, it points to a future reality with no more pain when every thing sad will come unfaithful.
Ruth Jackson is host of the Unapologetic podcast, is a producer and presenter for Premier Unbelievable, and cohosts The CS Lewis Podcast with professor Alister McGrath.
