Sickness, dying, and death seem to be all around these past days and weeks.  You can probably fill in the names and faces of those you know and love in your various circles of family and friends who suffer, who wait anxiously, and who grieve, or are preparing to grieve.  These things seem to come and go in waves, but perhaps it is not coincidental that this is happening during the season of Lent, with patches of snow still clinging to the earth in contrast to bare trees and brown, lifeless, grass and plants.  The cold of winter has sapped our inner reserves; we are empty, and we yearn for spring, for new life, for Resurrection. 

C. S. Lewis wrote these words at the beginning of his book, “A Grief Observed”:

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.  I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid.  The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning….  At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed.  There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me.  I find it hard to take in what anyone says.  Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in.

We are not the first, and we are not alone when we cry out to God.  “My soul is cast down within me…my tears have been my food day and night.  How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?  My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  (from Psalm 42, 13, & 22)  “Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress; my eye wastes away from grief, my soul and body also.  For my life is spent in sorrow, and my years with sighing; my strength fails because of my misery, and my bones waste away” (Psalm 31: 9&10).

Yet in the midst of grief, of numbness and shock, of sadness and weariness, there arise many and various signs of hope and love.  Signs of spring, life, and yes, the hope of the Resurrection!  To one, a profound peace is given, and anxiety is taken away.  Where people thought they were alone and unloved, there are family, friends, neighbors, and complete strangers offering comfort, help, and a loving presence.  To another there is release from long suffering and pain; death can be a gift.  “I am at peace with God.  I am ready to go home,” said with a smile of knowing and expectation derived from years of living in faith and hope.

Grieving and healing both take time.  There are no short-cuts, no quick fixes.  Yet as surely as the snow melts, shoots appear through the dead ground and buds on a lifeless branch, so too will our hearts be healed and our hope restored.  Because of Christ’s death and resurrection, the continuing mystery of His presence with us through grace, we will be able to proclaim with confidence out of our lived experience of faith, “You have turned my mourning into dancing; you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, so that my soul may praise you and not be silent.  O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!”  (Psalm 30: 11&12) 

This is our life-long journey from Lent to Easter.