Palm Sunday

Why I’m Not Writing About Holy Week

It’s customary, I know, for Christian writers, especially those whose work is in many ways shaped by the liturgical year, to say something especially profound during Holy Week. To write beautifully and share something moving and personal.

But I won’t be doing that this year. When I wrote for an online Christian news service it was expected, obligatory, to write something personal for Christmas and Easter, to share, with millions of complete strangers. Like there’s a silent contract: Christmas? Write something beautiful. Lent? Reflect. Holy Week? Deliver. Add something meaningful to the digital cenacle, or you’re letting the side down.

I think the sense of obligation to an audience, when it comes to the promised work, the work I’ve committed to, is a real and serious one. But I don’t think it extends to the interior life.

There’s a meme or cartoon or something out there showing a great cosmic apocalypse, the Second Coming and Judgment day, and a vast crowd of people all holding up their phones. I don’t want to be that guy; “Here’s my reflection on Golgotha… don’t forget to like and subscribe.”

Holy Week isn’t sentimental. It’s not a cultural ritual. It’s not “nice.” It’s not for pretty pictures. In fact, it’s unbearable; I can’t stand my own feelings about it, and I’m certainly not going to share them.

Have you ever felt like someone following the whole drama from a distance; do you see yourself as one of those unnamed people in the crowd, ducking behind the trunks of palm trees and columns whenever someone glances in your direction?

I won’t be taking a “content break.” Things will proceed calmly along the path we’ve been following. But you won’t hear from me about this other terrifying, world-shattering thing.