Muddy Days
March 27, 2015, 12:00 AM

Some days thoughts pour out of my brain like salt from a broken salt shaker.  Other days, everything turns to mud.

Why is that?  I have no idea.  This is a “mud” day.

We’ve been working hard to get ready for Holy Week, lining up the people to help (if you can help, please call!) with readings, prayers, acolyting and chalicing, and lining up the music and musicians.

I really enjoy Holy Week once all the plans are in place; for my money, it’s one of the most meaningful expressions of Christian faith, even more than Christmas, and it just deepens my experience of Easter as well.

You might not think that focusing in on the saddest and most distressing parts of Jesus’ story would do that for you, but it does it for me.

It’s not just about the perceived contrast; I’m not talking about hitting my head against a wall because it feels so good when I stop, but about acknowledging the reality of the human experience, the sometime harshness of life, the losses and the pain of life.

It’s more about holding on, in the face of that reality, to the promise that this is not all there is to our lives.  There is beauty, there is delight, and there is rightness, too.

Holy Week and Easter show us both sides – the dreadful and the hopeful, the dark and the light, the ugly and the beautiful. 

Holy Week and Easter remind us that no matter how bad things may get, there are still forces for good.  We do not have to give up to evil; we can stand up to it.  We do not have to give in to despair; we can choose to hope.  We do not have to groan; we can sing. 

We can stand up and hope and sing because Jesus died on the cross and Christ rose from the dead: the good overcame the bad; life overcame death; restoration overcame suffering; hope overcame despair.

That’s the point, really, of the whole Christian gospel: there is a God who cares for us beyond all measure; there is a God who desires for us more than we can ask or imagine; there is a God who is ready to come to us and stand with us, even in the darkest night.