Today is Saturday, the day after the crucifixion, and the day before the Resurrection. We are all and always on the cusp of getting nailed by someone or something and of being, hopefully, somehow resurrected. Most people, sadly, do not come down from the cross alive. Having endured blame, pain and shame; they often have wounded themselves as they are being wounded by others. It is a recipe certain death of body, soul or both.
They are then taken down from the cross upon which they were crucified by themselves and others, washed, put into clean clothes, and buried. A precious few, having once been resurrected, test their fate and trust their mind that tells them that for each crucifixion there is always another resurrection. There is an escape hatch for each self-destructive and each relationship-killing, Earth-killing and Christ-killing act. There is, they assume, a resurrection for each relapse and a new beginning for each end.
But voices from the graves of those we have loved and lost shout each night in unison that this is not true. Life, it seems, owes and promises us nothing but death. Is that depressing news? Or is it an awareness of how temporary and fragile life really is. And hope and faith in resurrection is no excuse for needless death.
Our lives, it seems to me, are a manifestation of grace. We are resurrected through our wounds. We are healed at the site of our injury. We turn to face the abyss and see light in the darkness. We endure. We gain strength. We take flight. We can join those who have perished ~ or we can learn to live from them. The supposed dead continue to speak and teach. This is resurrected life before death.
Love need not be resurrected. Hope need not be reborn. Faith has not gone anywhere. The sun is still in the sky, even when obscured by clouds of doubt and darkness. They are all here, waiting, for you.

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