something beautiful happens and I find myself soaring in the clouds, seeing the
big picture and feeling so blessed I can hardly comprehend it. And then the stresses of life hit me full
force, my knees buckle and I crash under the weight of single parenting, bills,
caring for teens with special needs, and trying to remember that I am lovable
whether the people I love respond in the ways I’d hoped to my outstretched hand
or not. From those low points, with my knees in the dirt at the bottom of the
valley, it’s hard sometimes to look up and believe I’ll ever soar again.
other morning, I was struck by how similar my own struggles—and perhaps all of
our struggles—are to Christ’s disciples in the last weeks of His ministry. They
had great highs during those last weeks when things looked so good. They thought
they could see what blessings were coming. Jesus was a king riding into
Jerusalem to shouts and palm branches. They had Him with them, were learning
great things, people were being healed and even raised from the dead. Really, how much better could it get?
mock trials. Peter’s knees hit the ground, in a manner of speaking, when he
betrayed Christ three times. And in front of his disciples and mother, Jesus
was hung on a cross and killed in an unbelievably cruel manner.
body for burial on Friday—a tormenting thing to have to do—and had to stop at
sundown for the Sabbath. What must that Sabbath Saturday have been like for
her? She thought she knew where things
were going. Christ had been with her, and now He was gone. Hope must have felt
so very far away. I suspect she cried a lot, and hard. I suspect she wondered why, and what would
happen now, and if things would ever be ok again. I’m certain she felt alone. I know that loneliness far, far too well.
back to the tomb to finish the horrible task that was also the one way she
could, perhaps, find some peace. Oh how
hard it is to do these tasks—the things we wish we never had to do, but in the
dark valley where we are, they are the best way we can find peace. We bring
spices to bury our hopes and dreams. Mourning and hoping to make it through the
unbelievable hard things this life requires, we do the small things we can do
to try to bring a glimmer of peace.
this last, small thing was taken away. I
ache as I see her fall to her knees in the dirt outside the tomb and cry for
everything she has lost.
fragment of what was really happening. She saw the empty tomb and unused spices
and loss and even tragedy. Did she remember the things He taught before He died
about his own resurrection? I think she
probably hadn’t understood the words He said.
How could she? She saw His death,
felt the dark reality of the Saturday when she knew He was gone, and now she
saw the very real, very empty tomb.
pieces meant. They looked like broken hearts and lost dreams and irreplaceable
loss—when in reality they were parts of something more glorious than she could
Mary was hoping and praying for the greatest peace she could
imagine—when right behind her was the living Christ. Not only was her friend
alive and whole, but He had opened the grave for all of us, made repentance
possible, and changed all of eternity in the most glorious ways imaginable. But
Mary, not seeing any further than the stone tomb, mourning that she couldn’t
have what she so desperately wanted, was looking for a dead body.
it, with my own eyes. I suffer through
Saturday alone, crying and hoping I can go back with my spices and try to fix,
as best as possible, what I’m certain is the bitter end. And when I’m certain nothing
can get any worse, I find the tomb empty and fall to my knees in the dust and beg
God for the blessing of a dead body.
outstretched, is the living Christ with blessings He promised that I didn’t