Holy Week demands that we dwell in-between. We have been trying since Palm Sunday to place ourselves in the familiar stories of this week, imagining ourselves with Jesus at the supper or in the garden or at the foot of the cross, setting aside our daily business briefly for an imagined role in the drama. We do this, however, as simultaneously self-conscious participants in ecclesiastical tradition, aware, even amid our devotional immersion, that these are all rituals: we know the palm branches will lead to the bread and wine, then to the Good Friday tenebrae candles, then to the processionals of Easter Sunday. We know what’s coming.