Yahweh, Yahweh
Always pain before a child is born
Yahweh, Yahweh
Still I’m waiting for the dawn
Still waiting for the dawn, the sun is coming up
The sun is coming up on the ocean
This love is like a drop in the ocean
This love is like a drop in the ocean
Yahweh, Yahweh
Always pain before a child is born
Yahweh, tell me now
Why the dark before the dawn?
Take this city
A city should be shining on a hill
Take this city
If it be your will
What no man can own, no man can take
Take this heart
Take this heart
Take this heart
And make it break
This is the last day of Lent. We are alone in the cold and darkness of our uppper room. The horrors we have seen, watching the One who brought such hope be beaten, stripped and crucified. Fear dominates our thoughts, confusion in our soul. Why did these things have to happen, and where do we go from here? What's the point? Darkness seems to be our only friend.
For some reason on that Sunday morning, Mary "got up" and went to the tomb. Did she expect anything? Was there yet a glimmer of some hope welling deep inside her? The dark and cold morning of that 1st Easter was ripe, it was a pregnant moment. Some hid, some gave up . . . but atleast one "got up" and kept hope alive. And what she found was that the darkness was swallowed up in Dawn of unquenchable Hope, that is Elpida. Now Life would rule.
I don't know why this pain and darkness has been around us this season. I don't like it, I don't approve of it, but I am just creation. I do know that our Story is one of hope and one of resurrection. I want to believe that this is a pregnant moment, waiting to give birth to unexpectant hope. I don't know why, but I do know what we're suppposed to do. We're supposed to get up. Because darkness always comes before a dawn. I don't know that if I get up today that I may find another stone, rolled away.
Regardless of our perceptions, Yahweh wins . . . Yahweh wins.
Have a blessed Easter.
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