Easter for the doubter

we met at the well

i go there everyday at noon when all of the women are in their homes
if i could be invisible, I would.
you were standing there at the well
it was strange because it was midday
and the men don't congregate there, its a woman's place.
i tucked my head down low and a walked forward
i didn't expect to hear you say
Give me a drink

and here you are,
the man who changed my life.
The only person who looked past my lies and my shame
and called me by my name.
There was no judgement,

there was no shame.

Yet here you are, hanging on the tree.
As tears stream down my face, I wonder if this was a lie.
My life has changed, I gave up everything and to follow you.
Was it too good to be true?

You are the Christ,
at least that is what You told me at the well.
You are the living water,
I have not been thirsty since I met You.
And now, I am quenched.
Thirsty for the truth,
doubts swirling like a hurricane
Pain wrecking my heart
I cannot breathe,
someone please give me a drink.

I've heard the story of Peter walking on water.
Faith bubbled in my heart as Peter shared that story,
his heart alive like mine was the day You said my name.
But now, just like Peter, I'm drowning
but I'm looking right at You.

Every promise you made,
I hung on every word.
Every word you said,
I buried deep within my heart. 

The women are here,
I'm at the foot of Golgotha.
We stand and weep
We know not what to think
We know not what to believe

As the sky breaks open,
I didn't expect you to breathe the words
Give me a drink
Sorrow rages within me
these are the first words you said to me,
what I would give to be at that well again with You.

I have never heard such deafening silence
as the crowd of people stood unmoving
unbelieving that the Son of God has breathed his last
This man, who claimed to be my Savior, has died.
Where do I go from here?

One of the most powerful things about the cross is the silence that comes between Friday and Sunday. Between those days, Jesus' most devoted followers were wrecked with doubt, fear and pain. Everything they believed to be truth was turned upside down, killed and buried with Jesus. What did they do for those three days? What did they talk about? Were they ashamed? Were they angry? As Christians, I don't think we spend enough time between Friday and Sunday. We mourn the loss of Jesus on Friday and on Sunday we are amazed and singing worship songs. But what about Saturday? What about those long, brutal days where Jesus' followers did not have a rock to stand on anymore? When they had no hope? When everything they believed to be truth had been obliterated?

There is a sacredness to Saturday we forget. A heaviness we ignore, we are terrified of. I believe that there are more people who are feeling the pain of Saturday on Sunday morning. Some people who cannot believe that the Ressurection takes away the pain that quickly. Mourning must happen. Jesus was not who they expected.

Friends, Saturday teaches us the importance of doubt. Of holding questions close. Jesus waited two whole days before he rose again because He is not afraid of questions. He is not afraid of doubt. He is not afraid to be the unexpected. If it's Sunday and you are still questioning, it is okay. If you cannot sing the worship songs because it just doesn't make sense to you, it is okay. If you are kinda glad they cancelled Easter because you aren't sure if you could enter the Church with all the happy people, it is okay. Jesus makes space for the doubters. 

There is space for us here.

finding healing within a plague

The world is loud right now.
There are so many messages,
so many rules,
Do this, they say.
Don't do that, they advise.

Amidst it all,
I've been drowning.
Going under
beneath the waves of heaviness,
of confusion,
of wanting to take it all away.

And the voices get even louder from the Church,
Come to our service online!
Don't stop meeting together!
People are throwing Bible verses around like candy
desperately trying to find an answer for this plague.

I think one thing we all have in common is this:
anxiety.
The plague finds us all back in our deepest trauma memories
and here we stand,
fighting the memories off,
fighting the fear off, trying to displace these feelings.
Running.

You and I,
we feel the same thing.
What if instead of sharing numbers and stats and hypothetical scenarios,
we shared our hearts with one another?
What if instead of judging those who went to the grocery store 7 times last week
or to buy plants for their garden
or to hike with a friend
we held one another up,
we praised them for keeping a schedule rather than staying in their bed,
we supported them for finding something new to love when the job they love has been taken away.

This plague will look different for everyone.
One of my friend lives in Bolivia and hasn't left her home in 3 weeks and is running out of food.
Another has built a garden and bakes bread every day.
Another signed up for a class and is fighting off the memories of depression.

The question I have been wrestling with for the past several weeks is this:
Can we sacrifice our physical health for our mental health?
Does one come before the other?
Or is it possible to find healing in even this?