It’s been a hard month, a hard year. Re-watching Scrubs and this song was featured. It stirs me every time. If you want to fully enter into my reflection below, press play and keep reading with this in the background.
It seems fitting that I’m feeling this way on this particular weekend– Saturday of Holy Week– when I do my best to reflect on how the believers felt this day, over 2000 years ago. A song I love describes it this way: “the cruel cross had crucified the hope of every heart.” Fearful. Empty. Lost. A bone-deep exhaustion. How could anything be right again?
2018 has kicked my butt. Truly.
I’ve battled intense loneliness and blasts of anxiety. I was burned so badly in 2017 that I’m now defaulting to mistrust, when that is certainly not my preference. Book stuff has me questioning my identity as a writer, my identity as a confident woman. Health issues continue to click into place, though I skipped using my CPAP last night and had a long evening of battle-packed dreams of war and betrayal that has left me feeling depleted. It’s almost April and yet it snowed three inches last night. Where is spring? Will it ever come again?
The lifeless body in a tomb that Saturday . The grief and loneliness and ache of this one.
We wait. I wait.
Because I, with my 2000 years of hindsight, know what sunrise brings: resurrection, which has fueled hope ever since for people like me. Hope, big enough to hold me when I can’t hold onto it.
I love Easter. This is– hands down– my favorite holiday. This weekend, I have taken some time to reflect on the cross of Christ, the darkness of the Saturday in between, and the power and rejoicing of the resurrection Sunday.
As someone who often finds it hard to ground myself in the present time– one who is always anxiously anticipating that which lies ahead for me– I stand in awe of my savior, who knew for all eternity that the cross would be the climax of his story. How could he bear it? Death must have been such a relief.
Perhaps it was that he not only knew what was ahead in the cross– but even further ahead, in the resurrection. I am unspeakably proud of my rescuer.
Blessings on your Easter, friends. May you find deep joy in this mighty rescue, peace in knowing that God understands our deepest sufferings, and power in the realization that the spirit that raised Christ from the dead is the same spirit that desires to live and work in us.
I’m one of those people who can’t tackle giant rollercoasters because of the long, slow, clicking rise to the top. Not the way down! I could probably handle the drop, but I cannot deal with that painful rise, that horrible anticipation.
Tonight I’m thinking about Gethsemane, about the weight of anticipation on Christ’s shoulders as he looks forward and sees the cat o’ nine tails, the cross, the nails, and so much blood. To know fully what is only hours away … anguish.
But he knew he was destined for the cross long before the garden that night … his whole life … and even before his earthly birth … for all of eternity.
That, my friends, is a long time to ride the rollercoaster up.