Good Friday lies buried
somewhere in yesterday;
But Easter morn
has not yet dawned.
So how are we supposed to feel?
What are we supposed to do?
Do we mourn the cross,
with its crippling weight of pain and loss?
Or simply celebrate
what lies ahead?
Modern minds
favour “either/or,”
compelling a choice:
funeral black?
or robes of white?
But is one wrong
and the other right?
The mystery of our faith is this:
Christ HAS died,
He IS risen,
He WILL come again.
To us is given
the challenge to live
in the “between” times
where Christ is risen.
So what might be
the curves and contours,
the structure and shape,
the hues and the shades,
the texture and taste,
the feel and the fragrance
of this life inbetween?
Not the fixed lines of the “either/or”
but the frail freedom of the “both/and.”
Mourning songs in a minor key,
mingling with shouts of victory.
Triumph and thanksgiving,
flanking defeat and loss;
The grave was empty –
and so was the cross!
Though death’s sting is removed,
the stench of death remains;
Yet our “between” times
are fragranced by
Christ crushed on the cross,
who lives again!
The Word became flesh
and was nailed to a cross;
The Son said “It is finished,”
But God’s “Big Story” isn’t done;
There’s more, so much more,
that remains unseen,
as we live and move and have our being
in the inbetween.
Jesus proclaimed:
“The kingdom of God has come near.”
Yet, he also said pray,
“Thy kingdom come.”
The cross sealed the deal,
His kingdom is real;
It has come,
it is here in our midst;
And yet,
not quite.
Perplexing paradoxes,
Apparent contradictions;
But Faith is not sight,
And Hope is unseen,
So as we live the story’s middle,
sometimes a riddle,
mostly a muddle,
We trust him in the tensions
and embrace the inbetween.
