Holy Week is nearing its end.
Today is a day of waiting. It is a day to ponder the events of this past week and to consider the coming of His Day….Resurrection Day.
In the silence of the moments of this day, I begin to realize that shadows seem larger than light. It seems like death has won. It feels like there is an abysmal chasm which cannot be bridged.
Resonant baritone voices will sing…“Low in the grave he lay…”
Death. Grave. Darkness. Uncertainty.
Pilgrims during that first Holy Week watched as their hopes, dreams and thoughts were dashed against the reality of Friday moments.
Jesus, the “miracle worker” was dead. No more excitement.
Jesus, the “healer” was dead. No more cases to baffle the doctors.
Jesus, the “life giver” was dead. No more transformation.
Jesus, the “Story-Teller” was dead. No more parables.
In the tradition that I grew up in we didn’t dwell much on Saturday. We rather looked to Easter because we would be able to rambunctiously sing….”up from the grave He arose” and everything would be rosy again.
I don’t want to walk to quickly through this day. The emotions that rampantly ran through the corridors of the disciples minds must have mystified them.
What next?
That’s the question that haunts me in the early hours of this Saturday.
What’s next?
Today is a day of waiting. It is a day to ponder the events of this past week and to consider the coming of His Day….Resurrection Day.
In the silence of the moments of this day, I begin to realize that shadows seem larger than light. It seems like death has won. It feels like there is an abysmal chasm which cannot be bridged.
Resonant baritone voices will sing…“Low in the grave he lay…”
Death. Grave. Darkness. Uncertainty.
Pilgrims during that first Holy Week watched as their hopes, dreams and thoughts were dashed against the reality of Friday moments.
Jesus, the “miracle worker” was dead. No more excitement.
Jesus, the “healer” was dead. No more cases to baffle the doctors.
Jesus, the “life giver” was dead. No more transformation.
Jesus, the “Story-Teller” was dead. No more parables.
In the tradition that I grew up in we didn’t dwell much on Saturday. We rather looked to Easter because we would be able to rambunctiously sing….”up from the grave He arose” and everything would be rosy again.
I don’t want to walk to quickly through this day. The emotions that rampantly ran through the corridors of the disciples minds must have mystified them.
What next?
That’s the question that haunts me in the early hours of this Saturday.
What’s next?
No comments:
Post a Comment