A Day of Silence.

Rain seems appropriate this morning. I just woke up and the first sight out my window is a constant rain against a darkened sky. Yes, this is very appropriate.

Today is the day between the holidays; the moments between the monuments. Today is a day of waiting; the day when heaven seems silent and the grave seems victorious. Today is a day to go back to fishing because there's nothing left for us here.

What would I do today if I didn't know what comes tomorrow? Would I return to the family business, lonely, disappointed, surrendered? Would I be hiding my face because of the shame so deep from my denial, afraid, ashamed, alone? Would I be waiting at the tomb, expectant, waiting, hopeful?

Lord, I know what tomorrow will bring. But what of today? Here is so much sorrow, so much mourning, so much loss. I know what to do with a resurrected Jesus. But You, the God in the grave, I don't know; I'm unfamiliar with this Jesus. What is happening behind that stone, what goes on the the grave in these hours of our weeping? Will You really rise, just as You said? Will You come back with thunder and lightning and strike down these soldiers that keep me from approaching? Is mourning appropriate this Sabbath Day? Or is a rehearsed liturgy and a stoic face what You prefer from me? Oh, Jesus, did we loose You? Or am I losing myself?

There will be no answer. Not today. Because today is a day of silence, a day of longing.

So, Jesus, meet us here in this empty space of now but not yet, of believing but fighting our unbelief. Give us tears over Your body now grown cold, and tears for our own aloneness in Your absence. We're waiting...