On Good Friday we remember a land covered with darkness, an earthquake, a loud cry of, "My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?" We remember blood & water, death and pain.
On Holy Saturday we think of the tension-ridden space between hurricane and harbor. We are reminded of grief, restlessness, and the resurrection that lies just beyond our vision.
We remember that You are present in the inbetween spaces.
When we are confident that You have abandoned us, oh Lord, You are working, weaving together a story of redemption.
You are here with us, in the tension, the quiet, the loss of hope. In the numbness that follows giving up.
And on this Holy Saturday, this space between crucifixion and resurrection, You whisper gently of Your presence in my inbetween spaces, this inbetween year. You speak tenderly of Your presence in every quiet morning & tired afternoon. Your nearness in my fear that this loss of feeling is here to stay. Your angel armies surrounding the camp, invisible to the naked eye. You allow me a glimpse into all the corners and cracks where You have been working, even when I was confident You had left me here alone.
You are with me in this space between hurt and healing, darkness and light.
You are here, oh Lord, and You are enough.
You are present in the inbetween spaces.