Grief Is Weighty

Grief
Grief is weighty.
Even the word pandemic has
A heaviness contained within;
All those fat and rounded letters
Holding it down.

 

It is a collective grief,
Magnified world-wide, of
A million wailing voices straining
To push through the shattered shards
Of lives and dreams.

 

I turn away from news,
From podcasts and posts,
For who can bear this kind of weight?
One who, with tears tracing paths down his face,
opened his arms to bear it all.

 

To hear my blog post read aloud, just click the play button. If you’re reading this in an email, you may have to click here to hear the post on my site.

Art credit: Grief by Bertram Mackennal

This Deep Ache I Feel

This season of Lent into Easter always leaves me with an ache in my heart.
Lent
I ache as I sit in the heart-wrenching tension between what is now and what is not-yet.
This year my heart has been even more tender than usual.
It is tender with an ache of longing for God to fulfill His promise to make all things new.
It is tender with an ache of longing for God to return and set all things right.
It is tender with an ache of longing for God.
ache of longing
We have sat in silent mourning through Lent, grieving our sin and our broken world and longing for Messiah.
We have rejoiced in exultation on Easter, celebrating Christ’s victorious defeat over sin and death.
Now we wake up to a world that is still sinning. still broken, still dying.
We trust, on our best days, that Jesus’ defeat of sin and death really happened, that God will not forget any of His promises, that God’s Spirit truly dwells inside of us.
And our hearts ache.
We are filled, more on some days than on others, with an aching, homesick kind of longing for what is still to come.
This is good. This is as it should be.
We should not be satisfied with this world in its brokenness.
We should not be satisfied with ourselves in our sinful nature.
We should not be satisfied to be physically separated from God.
Listen to this ache, for we are not yet home.
Let yourself feel this tenderness fully.
We should allow this ache in our hearts to spur us on to seek God more, to love God more, to love those around us more, to do all we can to bring His kingdom to rule on earth.
It is good to have seasons in which your heart is more tender, in which that longing ache is closer to the surface.
It simply means the end is not yet here.
On the day when our earth is made new, when heaven and earth are joined together, when Jesus descends from the clouds and we run into His arms,
On the day when God will dwell with us and we will be His people,
On that day, this ache we feel will melt away.
We shall be home.

feel your ache

For now, learn to be still and truly feel this ache in your heart. Let it draw you closer into the arms of the One who will someday heal you completely. You can trust Him.
Easter has already come.

Easter

To hear my blog post read aloud, just click the play button. If you’re reading this in an email, you may have to click here to hear the post on my site.

All photographs copyright Made Sacred 2020

Living in Saturday

Saturday of Holy Week is hard.
Saturday
The disciples’ hopes are dashed. Disappointment and dread lie heavy in their stomachs. Fear is rising quickly in the face of an unknown future.
It feels right now as though we are living in Saturday.
Our hopes are dashed. Disappointment and dread lie heavy in our stomachs. Fear is rising quickly in the face of an unknown future.
Saturday is dark.
Yet – When darkness veils His lovely face, I’ll rest on His unchanging grace.
For we know something that Jesus’ followers did not.
Sunday is on its way.
Sunday
No matter what your fear in this time of Saturday, Sunday is certain.
For the sick, for the hungry, for the hurting, for the jobless, for the homeless, for the lonely, for the grieving, for the abused,
Sunday will come.
This is why we celebrate Easter, to remind us of the glorious Sunday that is still to come.
This is why, even in this strangest of Easters when none of our normal gathering will occur, it is important to celebrate, to feast, to fill our spaces with joy in whatever way we can manage.
It is important because we are living in the time of Saturday, and we need the reminder of why we do not despair, why we continue to work toward the coming Kingdom.
We need the reminder that no matter what happens on this earth,
Sunday is on its way.
And when the light of Sunday blazes over the horizon, all of the ugliness and horror that happened on Saturday will melt away like the morning fog.
This week, sit with your dashed hope, your disappointment and dread, even your fear on Good Friday and Holy Saturday, for these hard things are real.

grief

But on Sunday prepare to celebrate.
For Sunday is also real, more real than any of those other things, and Sunday will be more glorious than your wildest dreams can imagine.
Sunday is coming.
Let him who walks in darkness
and has no light
trust in the name of the LORD
and rely on his God.
Isaiah 50.10
To hear my blog post read aloud, just click the play button. If you’re reading this in an email, you may have to click here to hear the post on my site.

Art credits: Preparation of Christ’s Tomb by Vittore Carpaccio; The Angel Opens the Tomb of Christ by Benjamin Gerritsz Cuyp; Rabboni sculpture by Gutzon Borglum, photo by Kathleen Cole

The Magic of Late Winter

I apologize for being late with my essay this week. I have no excuse other than the one that we all have these days, that of the world being turned upside down.
This week I am joining in a collaboration with several other writer friends from The Habit forum to search out the beauty that can be found (although sometimes one must look deeply and long) in this season of late winter and early spring.
magic of late winter
Click here to read my essay and then linger awhile to read the wisdom and goodness offered by my friends. Blessings on all of you in this Holy Week, my friends. May you sense the presence of our Lord in more tangible ways than usual.

The Magic of Late Winter, Part VII: Guest Post by Elizabeth Giger