I keep thinking I’ll write something new and profound for Resurrection Sunday. But I never do. Because there’s really nothing I can add to what I’ve written before: the Gospel IS the Good News.
It’s what makes the waiting possible and hope something more than wishful thinking.
Christ has died. Christ has risen. Christ will come again.
“The worst conceivable thing has happened, and it has been mended…All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” ~Julian of Norwich
I’m not sure when I first read this quote, but it came to my mind that awful morning. And I played it over and over in my head, reassuring my broken heart that indeed, the worst had already happened, and been mended.
Death had died.
Christ was risen-the firstfruits of many brethren.
I’m sharing this again during Holy Week because if I’m honest this week presents lots of moments when I have to sort through my theology once again.
Dominic’s death is inextricably tied to the days between Palm Sunday and Resurrection Sunday. And my heart is twisted into all kinds of uncomfortable shapes every year around this time.
I’ve said before that what I write is as much (or more!) for myself as it may be for anyone else so I’m reminding my own heart that God did not snatch Dominic from my life.
His death is not a punishment nor a hammer nor a lesson.
This is a question that comes up all the time in bereaved parents’ groups: Did God take my child?
Trust me, I’ve asked it myself.
How you answer this question can mean the difference between giving up or going on, between turning away or trusting.
So this is MY answer. The one I’ve worked out through study, prayer and many, many tears. You may disagree. That’s just fine. I only offer it because it might be helpful to some struggling and sorrowful soul.
The news goes out over Facebook, over phone lines, over prayer chains and everyone shows up.
Crowds in the kitchen, in the living room, spilling onto the lawn.
It’s what you do.
And it’s actually the easiest part. Lots of people, lots of talking, lots of activity keep the atmosphere focused on the deceased and the family. The conversation rarely dips to deeper waters or digs into harder ground: “Where was God?”; “Why him?”; “Why do ‘bad’ things happen to ‘good’ people?”
But eventually the busyness and noise gives way to stillness and silence.
Most people are familiar with SAD-Seasonal Affective Disorder-a cluster of symptoms mimicking depression that develop in otherwise healthy folks when the shorter days and longer nights of winter limit sunshine exposure.
Fewer folks know that nearly every bereaved parent has his or her own version of SAD which has nothing to do with daylight/darkness cycles and everything to do with the calendar.
For me, it starts in February and runs through May.