Day 42: The cross amist the ashes

So many pictures of the Notre Dame Cathedral. So ironic for it to catch on fire during holy week. But in a hard and painful way,  almost fitting.

Nothing lasts forever.

The searing, painful truth of this season is coming face to face with loss, suffering and death.

Things we love. 

Thing that matter.  

Will burn or break down or get lost. 

Our health will fade and our bodies wilt away.  

It's hard to hold this close.  

Hard to speak of it.  

Hard to experience it.

But faith offers us hope.

Of all the images Ive seen this week of Notre Dame,  the one that is burned into my mind is that of the golden cross surrounded by darkness and grays and blacks of smoke and ashes.

This is a blinding,  unmistakable hope that radiates from that image.  It for me speaks the 1,000 words of what this week is about.

In the midst of senseless loss and sadness,  light shines.

 
In the midst of fear and conspiracy,  strength and resilience.
In the midst of the hurt of today, 
An invitation to tomorrow.

Holy week is a mystery.
Easter is a mystery.

My whole life I've struggled with what it all means.  And still I don't have answers.

But that image of the shining cross,  strong and bright in the middle of loss and despair is perhaps the closest I come to articulating the promise of Easter.

 

I keep coming back, year after year,  to wrestle with this week. 

And though my mind can't wrap itself all the way around it.  I come to the same verdict.

There is hope beyond darkness. 
Sunday after Friday.