The day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, that day when the tomb is full and grief starts to set in for family and friends. The soldiers have gone home, the rulers are feasting, the market is open for business. Under the cover of night, herbs and spices are being prepared to anoint a dead body, the one who lent the tomb to the family is privately and quietly being thanked for his generosity, bravery and kindness. The friends have gone home and baking bread, preparing food and getting ready to go fishing or for a walk to an artisan’s workshop. There is a sense that it is business as usual with the dawn of the new day. There is sadness and resignation. This in-between day will go unnoticed until tomorrow. When tomorrow comes they will notice this day, but not today. Today will become the day that held them in their grief. The day that didn’t move them forward in their lives. The day they drowned in sorrow. The day that stood still.
In this day, the in-between day, there are moments. Moments of memory, of abandonment, of fear, of disbelief, of surrender and deep down anguish. There are moments of interrogation – could we have done anything differently? Could we have fought our way? Why did he say that? Where were are friends in power? What was that all about?
In this day, the in-between day, there are flashes. Flashes of the past where we laughed, where we ate together, where we wandered along the shore, where we climbed a mountain, where we sat and talked all night and all day, where we listened to stories, and basked in silence.
In this day, the in-between day, there are sparks. Sparks of ideas that held us together, sparks about love, sparks about justice, sparks about peace, sparks about hope, sparks about triumph, sparks about being totally and completely wrapped in joy,
In this day, the in-between day, there are no surprises. It is business as usual, yet nothing is the same. He is not here. His face will never be seen again, his eyes will never meet mine again, his ears won’t hear my laughter or hear my sobs, his hands won’t hold mine, his lips won’t taste my tears. Nothing will ever be the same again and in this in-between day there are no surprises. It is a tedious day it is business as usual and nothing is the same or will ever be the same again. Will tomorrow ever come? And when it comes will I be ready?
My promise to tomorrow, is to know this in-between day, this day when it is business as usual and nothing is the same. In this place readiness is being incubated just as surely as transformation is happening in the tomb. Tomorrow the tomb will be empty and tomorrow I will be more challenged than ever before. It will be my open-ness to new possibilities and capacity to awareness to be able to believe what I see and have my heart tell me what my eyes and ears can’t. I will be confounded but not confused. I will be ready because of the in-between day where it was business as usual and yet nothing remained the same. I will be ready because I stayed open to all there was and all there is and all there will be. When grief comes calling on in-between days, go about your business as usual and let readiness for what is ahead incubate in the darkness. It is in the darkness that new days begin with a moment, a flash and a spark.