“Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb.”
Read: John 20:1-18
Easter begins in sorrow –
In confusion, the stone is not where it should be.
In competition, there is always one out-running the other.
Easter begins in sorrow – in not understanding.
In anger and bargaining. They have taken his body, and nothing is left.
In tears. Woman, why are you weeping?
Easter begins in sorrow.
Perhaps this year we need to linger a while in this liminal space. Perhaps we need to be here long enough on Easter Sunday to acknowledge the painful selfishness of our days, the deep grief of unacknowledged deaths, the utter destruction in the path of war, the silence of the powerful, the hungering of Earth for climate justice. So. Much. More.
Easter begins in sorrow.
And yet.
We gather in the darkness of an early morning hour and try to time our first Alleluia with a burst of sunlight.
Easter begins in sorrow.
And yet.
“There is a brokenness out of which comes the unbroken
a shatteredness out of which blooms the unshatterable.
There is a sorrow beyond all grief which leads to joy
and a fragility out of whose depths emerges strength.” ~ Rashani from “The Unbroken”.
Easter begins in sorrow. And yet.
Christ is risen. Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia.
“Place me as a seal upon your heart,
For love is as strong as death,
its ardor as unyielding as the grave.
It burns like a blazing fire,
Like a mighty flame.
Many waters cannot quench love.
Rivers cannot wash it away.” —- Song of Songs 8:6-7
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