The Long Haul

It's Lent already. Wasn't I just writing about Advent? How the time flies. I was baptized on Palm Sunday of 2014 so Holy Week is a big anniversary for me. It's always a really happy time at the beginning of the week, but by the end of it, it's the worst week of the year. Seriously. Good Friday, every single year, is the worst night of my year. There's no comparison. Unfortunately, it's also (usually) the most intimate conversation I have with Jesus all year, so each year I spend Lent preparing for that fateful conversation at the foot of the Cross.

This tradition of talking to my crucified Christ began when I was a junior in high school. Pastor Trey gave us all red paint brushes at the Good Friday service and during the last song, we each went to the altar and painted a giant red streak on the white sheet draped over the cross. By the end of the service, there was no white left. It was a really humbling moment. After the church was mostly empty, I went back up to the altar, sat down under the cross and wrapped my arms around that red sheet. I got covered in paint but I hardly noticed. If there was ever a moment that I believe I wept bitterly, that was it. I can't remember what was going on in my life to cause such an emotional response to the Cross, but I do remember that sitting there, I promised my Jesus I would always come back to the foot of the Cross every Good Friday. Like the women who followed Him all the way to Cavalry, I would be there no matter what kind of shape I was in, every year. And most importantly, I would allow myself to completely drown in the sorrow and despair of His crucifixion. Every year. Once a year. On Good Friday.

And that's pretty much how it's been every Holy Week since. It's painful, it's horrible, it's ugly cry face on steroids. But each year, I let my heart and soul open up and completely give in to all manner of pain and sorrow that comes with the death of my Jesus. Some years, I have no words; others I have quite a lot. Last year, there was a very serious moment where I all but shouted that He should just come down, it wasn't worth it. And even today I can hear His still small voice saying, "No, dear one. I want to do this." And then, like a candle being blown out, He was gone. And in the middle of a deathly silent Catholic church, my whisper penetrated like a pin dropping. Jesus, come back. 

As I'm getting closer to this year's Holy Week, I've been preparing for my annual encounter with Jesus at the Cross. What is it going to look like this year? It dawned on me recently that it might be even uglier this year because I think my life (my behavior, at least) is in a much darker place than it was last year. I've been trying to 'fix' certain things about myself. Trying to be a better Christian. Trying to be a better friend. Feeling like I've failed at both. Today I had the picture in my mind of returning to my place at the Cross and saying, Well, Jesus. I'm back. And I'm actually in worse shape than last year.

But today at church I was reminded that Righteousness, Holiness and Redemption are not things I strive for, they are a person. When I strive for righteousness on my own, that is not the righteousness of Christ, but self-righteousness. I am trying so very hard to make myself better, to make it work, but Philippians 3:8-9 tells us that righteousness comes only from God on the basis of faith, faith that also happens to come only from God. This tells me that righteousness and redemption are not achieved, they are given, granted and become slowly integrated into my life when my faith (the faith He gives me) sticks around for the long haul. In this way, righteousness can often involve a lot of waiting.

So why am I surprised that I'm in not much better shape this year than I was last year? This is why the Bible says to fix our eyes on Jesus and that He is the author and perfecter of our faith. Both of these phrases imply a process. Sanctification, to my chagrin, does not happen overnight. If fixing my eyes on Jesus is a process and His perfecting my faith is a process, why in the world, in fact how dare I demand that He take care of my struggles as of yesterday? This is not going to be a sprint right out of the gate; it's going to demand a steady pace over a great distance. That's why Hebrews 12 tells us to run the race marked out for us with perseverance. If it was only 100 yards, it wouldn't require much perseverance, now would it?

So if anybody else is going through Lent hoping to become a 'better person' between now and Holy Week, just stop. You can't make yourself better. Only Jesus can. And it takes time. Sometimes a lot. And if come Good Friday, you and I find ourselves at the foot of the Cross in the exact same emotional and spiritual place that we were last year, that is okay. If we're in even worse shape than we were last year, that is okay, too. Because as long as we keep faithfully returning to the foot of the Cross, we are exactly where we were created to be and who we were created to be with, regardless of what we see in the mirror.