It’s Easter now. We get to celebrate. Spring, family, the Resurrection, egg hunts, whatever gives you life.

Of course, it’s different this year.

I do rejoice, in so much.

I’m also stuck on a feeling of yesterday, the grief and watchful uncertainty of Easter Vigil, also known as Holy Saturday. My husband found a great editorial about exactly this: the long Holy Saturday of this pandemic, our global grieving, our mutual contemplation of loss.

Two years ago now, I wrote a poem to companion my struggle with a different grief. It speaks to me again today:

Easter Vigil
We spoke so much today 
about the conquering of death.
While my dear friend is dying. 
While I have fought since I fell in love 
the someday-grief 
of losing my heart's compass. 

I take comfort in my lack 
of understanding. 

Three days are not enough, this year, 
to mourn. I am ready for joy, 
but not ready yet 
to stop crying. So much space 
in our hearts is shaped 
by sorrow.

There is need to shape,
in our practice, sorrowspace.

I am not struggling to reconcile 
my faith. Which is no literal thing. 
Which is a river, if it is anything.

I am only struggling.
Same as you.

_______

If you enjoyed this post, please consider sharing it with a friend. Blessings of the season to you both.