When Jesus had risen, early on the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had driven seven demons. She went and told his companions who were mourning and weeping.
When they heard that he was alive and had been seen by her, they did not believe. // Mark 16:9-11
This had never happened to me before. There I was, unpacking a beloved Nativity scene from my Christmas decorations. It was Christmas Eve, and I was a little delayed in decorating. As I carefully placed Joseph, Mary, and the others on my mantle I realized that the most important piece was not in the box. Jesus Himself was nowhere to be found.
Who in the world loses the baby Jesus?
Dumbfounded and still in my pajamas, I felt tears form in my eyes. This was more, you see, than simply misplacing a favorite ornament or cherished Christmas stocking. It felt as though the spiritual loneliness I had endured over the past several months was now physically manifested in a wooden baby Jesus who could also not be found.
Determined not to allow Jesus to be MIA on Christmas, I spent every extra minute that Christmas Eve digging through every single box of decorations where I thought He might be found. But Christmas morning came and went, and there was no baby Jesus to place in the manger. Still more time went by until one day, simple as can be, I found Him. Thank God for that moment of humility!
Today’s Gospel reading (see Mark 16:9-15) paints a stark picture of those too mired in grief to really believe that Jesus had risen. Like them, I have sometimes struggled to see with the eyes of faith. Maybe this has been hard for you too. What I want you to know, here in this octave of Easter, is that it is okay if today the Risen Christ feels hidden. It is okay if we are past the beauty and grandeur of Easter Sunday and are feeling stuck in the muck of something hard again.
It’s okay.
Jesus is here. He accompanies us through our day-to-day moments, weeps with us in our sorrows, and cheers with us in our times of joy. It may feel at times like we have lost Him, but He has not lost us. Let’s pray today to find Him more deeply in every facet of our lives.
Karen Schultz est originaire du pays des 10 000 lacs, où elle se trouve souvent dans ou à proximité de l'un d'eux. En tant que doula, éducatrice en lactation et praticienne FertilityCare, elle trouve de la joie à aider les femmes à embrasser le don de leur corps. Les temps d'arrêt se trouvent dans les chapelles d'adoration tranquilles, les marchés de producteurs et les jardins, et en écoutant de la musique bluegrass. Elle est l'auteur de Blessed Conversations: Misericordia .
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