Desperation

Do you have moments when you feel like this?

Wide-eyed with desperation, bearing an aching gut and hoping for what you know almost certainly can’t be real, the faint belief that this nightmare is indeed just a nightmare. That “joy comes in the morning,” that the streaming purple and gold light on the horizon really do tell of hope and truth and life, glorious, radiant, unbelievable life.

I recently came across this painting, Eugene Burnand’s “The Disciples Peter and John Running to the Sepulchre on the Morning of the Resurrection,” for the first time–on my Pinterest, where else?–and this painting has been lodged in my mind ever since. Perhaps it’s Peter’s eyes, wild and scared. Or John’s clasped hands and anxious, leaning body as he hurries to the tomb. All I know is that I so often feel the same way: terrified and uncertain and just barely beginning to hope, a little bit way deep down, that the hope I cling to is real.

I feel this way every year, I think, with the slow and temperamental wearing-out of winter as I ache for spring, for warmth and beauty. I am thankful, this year as every year, for the rhythms of the church calendar which remind me anew each season of the oldest and best story there is. The story spelled out so beautifully in this art: that because of Him, death leads to life and our rancid hurts can bloom beautiful with life. That our deepest fears, even the fears which are real, are not the deepest and most real thing.

The most real thing, that which is stronger even than death, is life which flows from and through the Son.

He is risen!

He is risen indeed.

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One Comment on “Desperation”

  1. mbgregory says:

    Great read. You rock!


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