We've carried much with us this Lent, sisters: the repetitive sins we can't seem to shake, strained relationships in need of healing, nagging hurts from the past, and persistent fears for the future. Do you ever feel like Lent is an intensely vulnerable time, with your heart exposed to all those places where woundedness resides?
I feel that way, too.
And now here we are on the vigil of Easter, the Scripture from today still on our hearts and the sting of Good Friday at our heels. We're walking in the footsteps of Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and James' mother, Mary. Will you close your eyes with me and imagine yourself at daybreak in Jerusalem?
You awaken with the memory of your dear friend's death just days earlier. You do the only thing you know to do when faced with such sorrow—load your arms heavy with burial spices and go to see where they have lain Him.
Can you imagine the tomb's entrance, stone rolled away? Does your grief give way to fear of where Jesus might be, or excitement that He might have done exactly what He promised? Can you imagine stepping inside the dim light of the tomb and gingerly touching the burial shroud that once held your best friend? Do you let the words of the angels seep into your heart to give you hope?
"He is not here, but he has been raised" (Luke 24:6).
Can you see yourself running back to your friends, breathless and exuberant, telling them what you saw at the tomb? Can you picture your friend Peter's face as the hope rises in him, too?
Sisters, just as our Lord gave consolation to those beautiful and holy women, He desires the same for us. All of the burdens of this Lent, all of the struggles that occupy the corners of our hearts and sometimes leave little room for hope—these are the things our Lord desires for us to leave at the tomb's entrance. I'm leaving mine there—will you join me?
All of the burdens of this Lent, all of the struggles that occupy the corners of our hearts and sometimes leave little room for hope—these are the things our Lord desires for us to leave at the tomb's entrance.Click to tweet
This brief section of the Catechism offers a full examination of the meaning of Jesus' burial.
Karen Schultz hails from the Land of 10,000 lakes, where she is often found in or near one of them. As a doula, lactation educator, and FertilityCare Practitioner, she finds joy in helping women to embrace the gift of their bodies. Downtime is found in quiet adoration chapels, farmers markets and gardens, listening to bluegrass music, and embracing the diversity of Minnesota’s seasons. You can find out more about her here.