The Worst Day of Their Lives

“Many women were also there, looking on from a distance; they had followed Jesus from Galilee and had provided for him.”

It was the worst day of their lives. The worst possible day, an unthinkable day, for these women: Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, the mother of the sons of Zebedee, Jesus’ own mother, and others who remain nameless. They were Jesus’ most faithful followers, who had come with him from Galilee and made sure that he had places to stay and enough to eat wherever he went. They were part of the band of disciples following behind him just a few days ago. They were there as the crowds shouted at him, hailed him as their triumphant king. These women were there, perhaps they sat on the floor, or at another table, in the upper room as he ate with all of them on that last night. These women were furious when the other disciples ran away. They watched as their friend and teacher was arrested and taken away by the Roman guards. And then there was Peter of all people, the leader of the community. Some of them heard Peter deny three times that he even knew Jesus. How could Peter do that? And Judas? “Oh, Judas, Judas,” they must have said, “what were you thinking?” And then they stood, towards the edge of the crowd around the cross, watching in silent horror, watching as all their worst nightmares came true, watching as their best friend, Mary’s son, was executed like a common criminal. They heard the mocking of the crowd, and they wondered, “How can we go on without him? How could this have happened? What went wrong? Where is God?”

Who hasn’t been where these women have been? Haven’t all of us passed through “the valley of the shadow of death?” Haven’t we all watched our own worst nightmares, or the nightmares of others, come wrenchingly true? Perhaps we’ve taken a job, a really good job, that starts out well. With growing dismay we watch our work change when the person who hired us leaves. A friend or spouse, whom we thought truly loved us, betrays us. After the initial excitement of retirement from a demanding career, a deep feeling of purposelessness engulfs us. A ride on a motorcycle or in a car, that started out as a wonderful adventure, ends up with a collision, a lost leg, and a shattered life. Who doesn’t have a relative or friend who seems to have taken a wrong turn in life, or is mentally ill, or abuses drugs or alcohol, or is in prison. Perhaps the son whose wedding we celebrated so joyfully only a few years ago, has now gotten divorced, separating us from a beloved grandchild. Our own beloved child contracts a sudden serious illness, or even dies. Perhaps a parent or spouse has died from a sudden stroke, at too early an age, while we stood by watching helplessly. In this broken world, our lives often take a sudden turn, and everything goes so badly. In our unbearable pain, in our sorrow we look for comfort, but friends and relatives provide little comfort or even scatter and desert us. Shattered in body and mind, we hear Jesus’ cry from the cross echo in our own hearts. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And all we can do, like the women, is silently watch, wait, and pray, as events unfold around us, and the worst comes to pass.

And when the worst had happened, when their beloved friend truly was no more, the women still didn’t run away. Peter and the others may have found safe places to hide, but the women stayed with Jesus. To the bitter end. Then they helped do whatever else they could for Jesus. They took care of his body as best they could on the eve of the Sabbath. They consoled each other. And they continued to weep, to watch, and to wait as Joseph of Arimathea negotiated with Pilate, as Jesus’ body was put into Joseph’s tomb, and as the mouth of the tomb was sealed up, and he was gone forever. In their despair, they stayed together, and they watched, they waited, and they prayed. They didn’t know what would happen next. They waited.

We do know what happened next. On the other side of Easter, we know that the same women who wept, watched, and waited discovered that tragedy had turned to triumph. They discovered that Jesus really was a king, and that the shouts in the parade last week were real, even though the people shouting at him didn’t understand what kind of a king he really was. To their amazement, what they never thought possible actually happened. Though they had watched him die, though they cared for his body, he was alive again. Inexplicably, crucifixion had turned into resurrection. Miraculously, from the worst day of their lives had come the best day of their lives.

And so, because we know a part of the story that these women didn’t yet know, when we enter into the darkest places of our own lives, we do so with hope. When we watch, wait, and pray, as we will this week and all the weeks of our lives, we know that death and darkness are not the end. We can continue to hope that the conflicts in our workplace will resolve. We continue to hope that out of the tragedy of a car wreck and a lost limb will come redeemed new life. We continue to hope that our daughter will confront her alcoholism, that our daughter-in-law and son will reconcile, or at the very least that we will find a way to show our love for our grandchild. We continue to hope that our loved one will be free of pain, and we continue to hope that death is not the end for our loved ones or for ourselves. And, while we are in the dark places, when all those who might comfort us have fled to their own places of safety, while we struggle to nurture our tiny flame of hope we share with others who suffer. Like the women, we watch, wait, and pray, and we console each other. And we also know that on the Cross God has experienced everything that we are experiencing. And so we share with others our trust that out of death God will bring something new.

This is our task for this week. Today we have heard one reading of the death of Jesus. On Wednesday we will lament what we know is coming on Friday. On Thursday we will join Jesus in the upper room for that momentous last meal. We will let him wash our feet, and we will receive a new commandment from him. On Friday we will stand with him at the Cross, ourselves watching, waiting, praying, perhaps even dying inside, or perhaps waiting hopefully, expectantly, for Jesus’ triumph over death.

I encourage you to invite others to join the church in watching with Jesus this week: watching the parade into Jerusalem, watching the events at Calvary, entering into the darkness and hope of this week, and walking with Jesus in his final hours. And then, watching deep tragedy turn into triumph.

And so let us pray. Lord, we come to you with broken hopes and broken dreams, with broken relationships and broken hearts, with broken promises and broken trust. We come to you as shattered people. Lord, broken on the cross for us, we bring all our pain and suffering, all our hopes, to you. And we trust that you will make us whole. Amen.