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.