Saturday 11 April

It's Easter Saturday, a day in between. In between death - the big D Death of Jesus and the small d of all our small deaths - and resurrection, is this day of waiting. We know the end of the story, that in God resurrection life wins. And yet, we find ourselves in this place of waiting, of holding on.

It's a hard place to find ourselves. In my own place of small d dying, I oscillate between hopeful faith and quiet desperation. Will things turn towards life? Will the light come? I see signs of it, I sense the turn is coming. And then I am disappointed, the turn towards life and goodness takes so long. Will it ever come in its fullness?

How do we live with endurance in this place of waiting? How do we keep our eyes on the promise of what is to come, while maintaining the inner resilience to be where we actually are? (This is not a rhetorical question. If you know, please tell me.)

While you think about that, this is a poem I wrote several long years ago. Some days it feels just as true as when I wrote it. Which is what I mean about waiting in this in between place.

Holding

Hold on, you say

I’m holding, Lord, my hand in yours,

I’m holding.

But I see nothing, the darkness is thick around me.

I’m holding, 

Yet I see nothing ahead; the light seems so distant.

I’m holding.

Hold on, you say.

For what am I holding, Lord, what is my hope?

New life, you say?

A promise that is sure, a hope that does not disappoint.

Resurrection, wholeness emerges.

Life, your life, rich, full, flowing, abundant.

I’m holding on for your life, Lord,

I’m holding.