A Return to Hope— Easter 2021
These past few years have been one long Holy Saturday. Living in the silence, grief, the pain, isolation, waiting. The liminal space between the pain and the rising. What was is no longer. What will be is not yet.
You can’t have resurrection without first feeling the pain, without first acknowledging the grief. You have to touch the wounds like Thomas to fully understand the damage with gentleness and kindness.
Resurrection comes to those of us who have been to hell. When you hear your name called like Mary, you return to that familiar place — you start coming home. Sure, it’ll look different now, so much so that you might not even recognize it. But Home has always been waiting. Always been right where you are.
Home is in the garden, in the trees, at the well, in the oil, in the wilderness, in the ocean, in the blooming flowers and rising & setting sun, it’s with the sex workers, with the Queers, and the doubters. Home is everywhere you wouldn’t expect it to be, and right where you’ve been all along. Home is hope planted all around us.
May we be still enough to find it.
May we be humble enough to receive it.
