"Let every man and woman count himself immortal. Let him catch the revelation of Jesus in his resurrection. Let him say not merely, "Christ is risen," but "I shall rise." ~ Phillips Brooks
Easter is a time for Christians to believe in miracles. In rebirth. In a life beyond. And so I look to the new dawn on this new day with confusion. My Christian upbringing telling me there is promise for tomorrow. There is opportunity. There is a day I will be with Kurt again. At the same time, this new part of me - the more jaded, cynical part that isn't sure what the world holds - looks to those same proclamations with questions and doubt. My world still seems dark. My doors still seems closed to opportunity. My gut screams that there is no life beyond death. I go to church trying to grab at what has now slipped through my fingers. And as the people around me rejoice in Alleluias, I find myself asking where is my sign. My promise.
Where is my Easter miracle?
I don't expect Kurt to come walking down the road, alive and living. I'm not asking for that. All I am asking is that today, on the day which represents rebirth, that my path ahead seem a little lighter, my burden a little less heavy. While many's Easter miracle taken the form of life, I am seeking a different four-ltter word.
I am seeking hope.
Even the pre-Christian pagans saw this day on the calendar as a day to commemorate life. The end of winter's gloom, and the promise of spring. As I look outside, I see it all around me. The snow is melting, revealing the Earth below. The water is running. People are spending more time outside. After months of seeming hibernation, our communities are again coming alive.
I want to feel that. Share in that. On more than just a surface level. But inside, its winter all the time.... Not for lack of trying, I've been for the most part unable to escape the grey that is the colour of my life. Unable to turn that frown upside down. Unable to turn away from the past and look to the future with any amount of optimism.
I'm dead. Maybe not hanging on a cross dead, but dead inside. Just waiting for my body to catch up.
If the dead really can be brought to new life, why not me? If its not possible to bring back Kurt, why not me? Where's that light switch that will brighten my darkness?
Basil C. Hume once said that "The great gift of Easter is hope..." I'm waiting. If you can make a dead man rise, surely you can inject some life back into me. Somewhere, there must be hope....
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