Total darkness and absolute light.
Evil and purity.
Doubt and faith.
Despair and expectation.
Disappointment and hope.
Destruction and establishment.
Separation and union.
Death and life.
Grief and joy.
And before the latter, there must be endured (not escaped) the waiting after the former.
The tension between the ‘already’ and the ‘not yet’. Both true.
The cross and the empty tomb.
“Easter Saturday” is the waiting on the knife edge between the two.
The waiting. Not the end.
He was not good looking.
He was not successful.
He was not envied.
He was a man of sorrows.
Acquainted with grief.
He knew what He was doing for me, and I did not.
I betrayed Him.
I rejected Him.
I misunderstood Him.
I misrepresented Him.
I gossiped about Him.
I deserted Him.
I beat Him.
I pierced Him.
I wounded Him.
I killed Him.
That is what makes Good Friday meaningful. Purposeful. Personal.
And yet He has come for me.
He always-and-forever-will-be for me.
And you too.
It is unfathomable.
He went to the depths, and rose back up.
Because of Him, I will too.
Thank you, God, for Good Friday.
Thank you, God.
The sky is black.
Sunday is coming.
Daffodil bulbs look like nothing.
And when they start to sprout through the soil, they could be mistaken for any other flower. Indistinctive green shoots.
But they’re faithful to their growth and – in spite of rain and snow and windy weather – they burst forth in March exactly when we need them.
Fierce little flowers, they never give less than their best. Have you ever seen a half-hearted daffodil?
Brilliant in colour, relentlessly outstretched, reaching for the sun. Especially piercing in beauty against a cornflower blue sky yet still able to brighten up the dreariest of days.
Undaunted by inhospitable environments, they bloom where they’ve been planted.
Daffodils teach me a lot about patience. And trust. And doing what you know to do. And being who you are. Just because it looks like nothing is happening doesn’t mean nothing is. Daffodils grow for a long time beyond the scope of human sight.
Then just when you think Winter will never end, suddenly Spring. It’s not “all over” at all! New life has, actually, only just begun.
No wonder daffodils are associated with Easter.
I turn my face to the Son and reach up to stretch out and bloom.
Just like them.