The darkest week

This is the darkest week of the Christian year. Right? I mean, I didn't grow up observing Lent or Good Friday. But in my years with the Methodist church, I've learned that this Holy Week, is also the darkest week. Tonight many churches will come together to celebrate Maundy Thursday, the Last Supper. On Friday we'll observe "Good Friday," which is not very good at all, it's when our Lord and Savior chose to serve and save his people from the cross.We journey with Christ to the cross. Like Him, we know what's coming and that there's no way to get out of it.

And on Holy Saturday? A day of silence, a vigil? This year on Holy Saturday our extended family will bury a six year boy, a cousin of Caleb's, a beloved son, grandson, nephew, friend and leave us entombed behind a rock of a grief. This death has hit me the hardest of the three I've experienced this winter. It is the loss of a child, so early in his life. I truly believe in the celebration of a life well and fully lived, but 6? Those precious years seem too few and I'm heartbroken.

I don't know about Easter this year. Less than 24 hours after Holy Saturday? It's too soon. There is no resurrection, no light this year. I imagine the pastor crying out "He is Risen!" and a silent congregation staring back at him, half of them related to the small constituent they are suddenly missing. Who among us will have the strength to roll the stone away?

The Easter baskets, the egg hunts, the branded candy seem smaller and pettier than in years past (and I have opinions on commercialized Easter). Tonight we'll make our midnight trip over the mountains again, but instead of looking forward to the Risen Christ on Sunday, we are grieving with the rest of our family. I'm grateful Caleb is too little to comprehend what's happening.

I can't bring myself yet to God and ask Him to lighten my emotional burden. There's something that feels honest about sitting in the grief with the community who loves Luke. I do believe, as much of our family does, that Luke is sitting in the lap of his Maker, full of joy, happiness and light. That he is with family who have gone on before, who were ready for him with open arms. It is a small comfort. In the meantime, we here in this life will sit with our silence, with our prayers, with our tears, and our mourning.

And yet - there's an answer to the question "Who has the strength to roll the stone away?" It's God of course, Love. And when we're ready, ready to ask God for light, rejoicing, hope and faith, may we remember that Easter is not just one day, but everyday. May we remember that we are the men and women whom God has made, and each of us, including the ones sitting in the arms of Love, are crowned with light that cannot fade. 

Let us sing of Easter gladness
That rejoices every day,
Sing of hope and faith uplifted;
Love has rolled the stone away.
Lo, the promise and fulfillment,
Lo, the man whom God hath made,
Seen in glory of an Easter
Crowned with light that cannot fade.
-The Christian Science Hymnal, words by Francis Thomas Hill