The following passage, from one of my Lenten reading books, caught at me tonight, in it's description of this Holy Saturday, this day that I've passed, that is now drawing to a close...
It read:
"This is a day for expecting the kingdom of God. To those who wait, the time between death and resurrection is very long. For God, it is but a moment." (Journeying Through Lent with Luke, by Nancy Koester)
I am waiting and expecting the kingdom of God. I am longing for resurrection to come.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Moving through the waiting
I pray better, I wait better, I survive better, when I'm moving.
When there are things that can be a distraction.
When there is motion that can be a focus.
And so, on this day that is so marked by the waiting for resurrection, I've moved.
I grocery shopped and visited the library.
I went to the post office, and stopped off at my parent's home.
I looked through cookbooks with L., planning some new meals to add to our regular fare.
I did laundry.
And cleaned my bedroom.
And swept the kitchen floor.
I vacuumed George.
And scrubbed his dashboard and other surfaces.
And fed him with gasoline.
I remembered to be thankful when malfunction with my seat in George stopped long enough for me to move the seat to the right spot, making it easier to drive.
I worked through several lists of things that needed to be done, cleaned, or accomplished.
And now, now I'm getting ready to settle down a little.
To read and pray and actively wait.
To prepare for the week ahead (though thankfully, I don't have to return to work until Tuesday).
To let quiet overcome the need for movement, and hopefully bring peace.
When there are things that can be a distraction.
When there is motion that can be a focus.
And so, on this day that is so marked by the waiting for resurrection, I've moved.
I grocery shopped and visited the library.
I went to the post office, and stopped off at my parent's home.
I looked through cookbooks with L., planning some new meals to add to our regular fare.
I did laundry.
And cleaned my bedroom.
And swept the kitchen floor.
I vacuumed George.
And scrubbed his dashboard and other surfaces.
And fed him with gasoline.
I remembered to be thankful when malfunction with my seat in George stopped long enough for me to move the seat to the right spot, making it easier to drive.
I worked through several lists of things that needed to be done, cleaned, or accomplished.
And now, now I'm getting ready to settle down a little.
To read and pray and actively wait.
To prepare for the week ahead (though thankfully, I don't have to return to work until Tuesday).
To let quiet overcome the need for movement, and hopefully bring peace.
The Day Between
This is the day between.
The day the disciples hid in an upper room, their world falling apart. Angry, fearful, shocked, grieving the loss of the one to whom they'd devoted the last three years of their life. The one they'd lived with, eaten with, slept near. Their teacher, the one they'd thought would change the whole world order. Their friend.
His body was laying in a stranger's grave.
And it was sabbath. They weren't permitted to work, or to be near the grave, so they gathered and waited, wondering if the wave of hatred that had stolen him from them, would come for them next.
~~~
This is the day between.
The day that life and light and hope lies temporarily buried.
I know the end of the story.
And yet, today I reflect on the grief, and the emptiness.
And I wait.
I fill the waiting, the grieving, the emptiness, in my own ways.
Moving on with life in a simple way. Groceries. Cookbooks. Maybe a walk in the park.
~~~
This is the day between.
And I am waiting.
The day the disciples hid in an upper room, their world falling apart. Angry, fearful, shocked, grieving the loss of the one to whom they'd devoted the last three years of their life. The one they'd lived with, eaten with, slept near. Their teacher, the one they'd thought would change the whole world order. Their friend.
His body was laying in a stranger's grave.
And it was sabbath. They weren't permitted to work, or to be near the grave, so they gathered and waited, wondering if the wave of hatred that had stolen him from them, would come for them next.
~~~
This is the day between.
The day that life and light and hope lies temporarily buried.
I know the end of the story.
And yet, today I reflect on the grief, and the emptiness.
And I wait.
I fill the waiting, the grieving, the emptiness, in my own ways.
Moving on with life in a simple way. Groceries. Cookbooks. Maybe a walk in the park.
~~~
This is the day between.
And I am waiting.
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