Paschal Mystery

When I was little girl growing up in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey (yes, Virginia there is more to NJ than a Turnpike and Newark!) there was a horrible fire that decimated the pine forests. It is a common occurrence really… the barrens being decimated by fire. I later learned in my middle school earth science that there are even pine cones that only pop open and give off seed when fires begin and reaches the cone.

This fire swept through town after town and mile after mile. The earth was desolate in those lonely stretches of Jersey barrens—miles and miles of forest were blackened and gone. Empty.

I had a really good cry the other night. Betsy tells me that I don’t cry a great deal. In my mind, I am a weeping willow, but by her estimation, not so much. She can count on her hand the number of times she has seen me really break down and cry hard. I mean really cry, not just whimper a little or shed a tear or two, but sob and weep until everything inside is all gone and I am spent from the emotional exertion of such an event.

I woke up today after such a cry the night before. I was hollow like the bunnies that came in baskets on Easter Sunday. As I drove to the church, I thought of those desolate blackened miles of my childhood. In my state of feeling hollowed out, I dragged myself into church and said the noonday office. I was a miserable offender: I said Psalm 22 instead of the recommended options. My heart was melting wax in my breast. As I prayed, I heard my mind tell God, “There is no grace present here today; please help.”

But the strangest thing happened.

What felt like only days after the fire, I began to notice signs of life. Birds in the trees, green coming forth from blackened earth. Slow growth came but some 30 years later, (at least at last visit) there is hardly a sign of desolation left.

Signs of life came again today for me. Grace happened like song birds returning or green springing forth. Today, of all days, grace happened.

This is how it is. In the midst of tears and sobbing, in places of blackened earth and hollowed out souls, hearts melting like wax, God forsaken places, grace comes and appears. And new life comes forth.
Maybe it is different life, but it is life nonetheless and why is it that grace is always sweeter after desolation-- like good dark chocolate that melts as you savor it, there is bitterness in this grace but somehow it is all the better than anything I’ve ever known.