Now, Monday.

I have had such a Holy Week.

And before this week, I had two long months of quiet, solitude, and withdrawal brought on by exhaustion—and those pesky, tiny mini-strokes.
I hardly know where to begin except here, at the end of the story.

Now, Monday comes.

Not part of Holy Week.
Not part of the public celebration.
Not part of the pageantry.
Not part of history as we share it.

And yet maybe Monday is where everything is tested.

I went deep this week and stayed there for days—really reading the Word across the Gospels, sitting with the movement of this sacred week.

And one question kept pressing on me:

What happens on Monday?

After the Resurrection, what do people return to?
What will most people go back to?
What will I go back to?

Mary and the women came to the tomb on Sunday morning after the Sabbath, carrying spices. That stopped me. Why did they bring spices?
They came, as some teachers have pointed out, to tend to what they believed would be a decomposing body.

But why?

He told them He would rise.
They did not expect Him to be gone.

Did they forget?
Did they doubt?
Did grief drown out His words?

I had never really let that question reach me before.

I do not know - at all - just how I would feel on That Saturday.
Honestly, would I know Jesus? Would I recognize Him?
Would I truly believe Him beyond all doubt?
Even when He died on that cross before my eyes?

Studying the word, and I noticed how quickly people drifted back.
Back to what was "comfortable". Back to their "world".
All of them.
Didn't we learn, Didn't I read.... that we cannot serve two masters.
World, mannon, distraction into comfort..... awareness of Only Him First

Matthew 6:24
“No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.

Peter and Andrew....went back to fishing. (John 21:3-19)
Mary slipped back toward anguish, fear, and uncertainty. (John 20:11)
Thomas fell back into doubt. (John 20:24-29)
The Pharisees went back to control and spread lies about the Resurrection.

^{Matthew 28:12-15}
"When the chief priests had met with the elders and devised a plan, they gave the soldiers a large sum of money, telling them, “You are to say, ‘His disciples came during the night and stole him away while we were asleep.’ If this report gets to the governor, we will satisfy him and keep you out of trouble.” 
So the soldiers took the money and did as they were instructed. And this story has been widely circulated among the Jews to this very day"

I found myself asking:

What effect does the empty tomb - and the actual, promised Resurrection, really have on us if we still return unchanged?

Scripture says that when Peter and John reached the tomb, they believed.

But believed what, exactly?
Believed Mary’s report that the tomb was empty?
Believed that something unexplainable had happened?
Or did they truly, fully know—He is risen?

That question has pulled me deeper.
I am learning to allow that pulling guide me.
Here is what I Know: I fear God.

I cannot bow before the truth of the empty tomb and then walk back into the very darkness the Resurrection shattered.

I cannot say, “He is risen,” and still live chained to old fears, old habits, old wounds, and old unbelief.
I WILL NOT.
I RECOMMIT it all.
If I believe it, then I must live like something has been broken open forever.

I will walk in the knowing of the Resurrection.

Not just admire it.
Not just celebrate it.
Not just visit it once a year.

But live as if Jesus Christ truly conquered death, hell, darkness, fear, and every grave that tries to hold us.

So now, Monday comes.

And maybe that is the real question for all of us:

After the empty tomb, and after The Resurrection, what will we return to?

I spent 3 hours silent, alone, in St. Michael's Catholic Church.
Good Friday.
!2 noon - 3:00
The Silence was so thick.
The Stillness was so moving.

This man, Sean Hiller, just described my very day.

Then that evening, Good Friday, I literally stumbled from a quiet, reflective afternoon into a busy, loud, immersive event. Earlier that morning, on a whim, I had gotten my hair cut. The woman next to me began telling me about her church, and as she spoke, I found myself fully engaged in everything she shared.

What Ruby and I entered that night was a re-enactment of Holy Week unlike anything I had ever imagined, much less experienced.

And I do mean experienced.
I was not a spectator.
I was part of it.

At least 100 people. Fifteen different sets.
Live donkey arriving in Jerusalem as we lined the street ourselves, with Palms.
Zechariah up in the tree.
The last Supper.
Gethsemene and blood.
The Betrayal.
Active Roman Centurions pushing through the crowd. Pushing me.
Barrabas and the yelling crowd.
The Crucifixion.
The Anguish.
The Tomb.
The Stone Rolled Away.
I can't post my videos, but I took a few pictures too.

All brought to life through video, music, weeping, and celebration. Nothing short of astonishing.

It was beautifully done. Thought-provoking. Piercing.

I could not sit in that, participate in that, and not ask myself what it means that it is true. Not imagine what it must have felt like to be there—to witness the sorrow, the shaking, the wonder, the victory.

Praise God for this week.

Thank You, Father, for sending Your Son.
Thank You, Jesus, for entering our suffering.
For dying in my place.
For rising in power.

I am forgiven.
You live in me.
I am no longer the same.
Thank You, Lord.

And now Monday is coming, and I am ready.

Here I am, Lord.
I am Yours.
Use me.

Here I am, Lord. I am Yours. Use me.