The first post I wrote called “Leaning Into Lent” wasn’t supposed to start a series of reflections. It was supposed to be an invocation and an invitation to be present in the season of Lent. It was supposed to be a challenge for me, someone who loves Lent, to lean even further into understanding more deeply what it means to lament and confess and run away from the one you have pledged to follow even unto death.
By Wednesday of this week, all of the leaning and reflecting caught up to me. After we put the kids to bed, I sat down to listen to make sure they settled and fell asleep. My leaning muscles were exhausted. My heart was heavy for all of the people hurting. My soul missed communion and community.
When I awoke it was already dark out. I ventured to the back deck where my partner and I sat looking at the supermoon finding constellations remembering we are simply stardust in a vast universe.
It is dark on this Good Friday night. I imagine the women and the disciples who were watching and waiting all day as Jesus suffered and then took his last breath fell in the same kind of exhausted sleep. They keep hoping for a miracle and they kept seeing suffering, hour after hour.
Beloved, it is ok if you are exhausted, if your leaning muscles and waiting heart just need to rest. Tomorrow it will be silent. We will wake up with puffy eyes from restless sleep or the number of tears we have shed. Tomorrow we will be silent and still as our bodies and souls recuperate from all of the leaning and waiting and hoping while being in the presence of suffering, hour after hour, day after day.
Give in. Let go. Rest now in the dark night.