Easter Reflections
Monday, April 5, 2010 at 7:48 AM Saturday – For now we wait – in this place between death and redemption – dark and light. A mother sitting at the foot of the cross watching her son die. Others stand with her AND she can only stand alone. No one can know the heartbreak of her own cross – her flesh and blood pouring from the wounds.
Today, the day in between, we wait. Have we not always waited? Death & resurrection. Birth & new life. How did we get here? Sitting at the cross. Moving east toward sunrise . East toward the tomb.
For what do I wait? The already and the not yet. Jesus’ way. His life is my life. Buried and crucified. Killed for loving. Was it worth it? Yes – every moment. I could not be here if I hadn’t gone there. And now we wait.
Sunday – Sitting in last night's Easter vigil, I was not ready for the lights to come on. The darkness comforting – holding – peaceful & womblike. No resurrection – yet. No bright lights. No breaking the silence with a rousing Alleluia.
-- Leonard Cohen
Today, I sit with you, Lord, knowing you are risen. Knowing it’s not about the grave or the cross or even death itself. It’s about now. You are here with me in this quiet moment. Risen. Yes.
I am happy to have sat in the dark of last night’s vigil. Today the light feels harsh. The celebration of bonnets and bunnies is too much. Instead, I sit in my jeans and t-shirt waiting to go to the Washington State Penitentiary to see my own flesh and blood.
We are rising. Already and not yet. We will go and sit and keep our own vigil on this day of resurrection. And in my heart, I will sing a broken Hallelujah – remembering the beauty in brokenness - waiting - and Love.
photo © h3images
Lent, Love, Personal Reflection, Waiting, Women
Reader Comments (14)
For some reason I've been reluctant to ask about the situation with J. Thinking of you all in the harsh light.
However cold and broken, love is and always will be, especially when it is for one of our own.
Thinking of you.
tess - it's a tough spot for us and those who care. do i ask? don't i? it felt like time to "resurrect" him and let the world know he lives. please don't feel reluctant... i'm really good at saying "i don't want to talk about it" when that's the case, but it always feels good to know he's/we're not forgotten. xo
I have no idea how I missed this in December, except that I may have been in the womb of teacher training at the time...
There are no words that could provide real comfort in a situation like this, but I am thinking of you and sending you peace and much love and light.
May that brave and sorrowful Mother accompany you on your visits! Life begins anew at Easter, but it isn't always how we'd plan it to be. I send you my thoughts and prayers, lucy.
I 'didn't know you' in December, I think. But reading your post of then, I admire your sharing the devastating news here.
When terrible things happen to good people...
Well, rest in darkness; may the healing take place, for you and your son.
Your light shines so brightly and vividly...
Blessings.
thanks, maureen.
ccr - thank you for your words today - comfort comes in a variety of forms including light and dark. blessings!
barbara - i decided a long time ago that life was going to be far more imaginative and creative than any thing i could possibly imagine. i kind of believe mother mary may have felt the same way, don't ya think?
claire - yes, terrible things happen to good people every day! for me, it's finding that balance between disappearing into the dark and/or trying to be all shiny and bright when the going gets tough.
it helps to remind myself that stars shine brightest in the darkest of nights.
so, glad to "know" each of you now!!!
"Lucy" I appreciate your post and for bringing J into your continuing story again. I think of him often even though I've never met him. You know that I have my own "beautiful boy." Light, love and warmth to your whole family. Keep shining. Keep smiling. Knowing that you do this in the midst of darkness makes your heart shine even brighter to me. Shalom, Laura
I find myself in a waiting phase, this spring. And I often reflect upon the http://never-shower-in-high-heels.blogspot.com/2009/06/beauty-of-broken-things.html" rel="nofollow">beauty of broken things.
Each waiting moment feels longer, deeper, darker, and the aching grows. Of course, any words of comfort offered up by me would sound so trite.
laura - i am always so warmed when i read your words. knowing you have your own 'beautiful boy' brings our hearts even closer. shalom, friend.
tinkerbell - thank you so much for sharing your own beautiful broken things. brokenness is really quite extraordinary, huh?
nothing trite offered up here, but lots of comfort for sure!!!
Just wanting you to know I stopped by this morning and continue to hold you in this space. Beautiful words here, the kind of beauty that emerges from raw ache, the truly most beautiful kind. with love, C
C - it sure takes a long time to see raw ache as the most beautiful kind... seems like i might be getting there though. xoxo
"Your reflection posts on Maundy through Easter deserve alleluias - not just veiled sisterly love in the comments section - these reflections are amazing and simply God-given. Thank you for sharing them with me. How blessed we are to be able to "truly" share with each other:)"
(my sis sent this via e-mail... i wanted to make sure it was captured here for me to remember).
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