We begin this holy week, joining our voices with the crowds in Jerusalem so long ago, welcoming “the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.” With joy and exultation, we lift our voices with theirs, shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” It is easy to follow along in that happy, festive milieu, full of excitement over and anticipation of what this prophet may bring forth this week.

As so often in life, however, our exultation doesn’t last long. Before we know it, the world turns upside down. The gospel rolls out like a carpet before us, preparing us for the Passion of Jesus that lies ahead. It is an agonizing week which brings us step by step to the desolation of the crucifixion and burial of Jesus, to seeing him laid in the tomb, finally being made “secure by the sealing of the stone.” We can’t bear to face it.

When our hearts are devastated, when our hopes are dashed, we often react by trying to bury our discomfort, to seal the stone over our distress. We want to forget our grief, to escape the pain, to move on, but that’s not the way life works. We have to go through the desolation of Holy Saturday before we can get to the end of the story. The darkness of the tomb, the silence and hopelessness, the lonely waiting of Holy Saturday are a preparation for the grace that we can trust God has prepared for us as we journey on—the mystery of God’s love revealed in our own personal story.

Desolation is not the end. As Henri Nouwen reminds us in Bread for the Journey (April 7), “Crushed grapes can produce delicious wine.”