The worst has happened.
The disciples have fled.
The cross stands bare.
The tomb is sealed.
Mary, dazed and exhausted by sorrow,
fuggy with tears,
makes her way to the grave.
She doesn’t know what else to do with herself.
Such is the restlessness of grief;
when the wound of loss is fresh, it’s hard to settle.
There’s a perceived need to be doing…
but it’s hard to focus.
Memories surface and break like waves,
some knocking us sideways.
Today we name our losses.
We acknowledge the aching emptiness,
and all that this past year has taken from us.
When there are no words, let silence be our prayer.
May the dawn break gently upon us.