Robyn, I totally relate.  I'm an Episcopalian who sings Bach at 9:00 AM on Sunday mornings, drawn into the sacred mystery by the beauty of the liturgy.  Then I dash to the other side of town and rock'n'roll with my very contemporary United Methodist Church-in-disguise at 11:00 AM.  I relate to both, and so belong to both.

Last night I was a part of Holy Communion's Maunday Thursday service, and was transfixed (as always) by the stripping of the altar.  I cry through the whole thing, drawn into the night Jesus humbled himself to suffer such agony and shame.

Tonight I was drawn into the events of Good Friday as if I was there by powerful ritual and Scripture readings at Heartsong Church.  I couldn't even speak as we left the church.

Holy Week is hard, but it needs to be.  It goes without saying that it was hard for Jesus.  But when I truly allow myself to personalize the events of that week, I face the perils of my own humanity.  When have I abandoned Jesus, or lied about our relationship?  When have I hurt so bad that I thought I couldn't stand it?  When have I cursed God, then wished with all my heart that He was there for me?  

If I never hurt this badly, I would have no need for God's healing.  If I never doubted, I could never experience faith.  If Holy Week wasn't hard, I wouldn't care about it and the crucial meaning it has for my life.