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Easter Weekend: for the depressed reader

 

Good Friday

The day when Jesus bore stripes for you and me. Lifeless and humiliated. He knew it was coming, tried to pray it away and rely on his disciples, but he found himself lonely and betrayed. You’ve certainly been there. You’ve worn stripes on your arms, cried out in deep anguish for it all to be taken away, and have been let down by your loved ones in your greatest moments of need. You relate especially to Good Friday services because you know darkness in ways others don’t.

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Holy Saturday

The day when the disciples were incapable of looking forward. Their beloved companion of three years was dead. They were abandoned. The day is silent and still. The space between death and life. You’ve certainly been there. You’ve been not alive but not dead either. You’ve known silence in ways others haven’t.

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Easter Sunday

The day He rises and surprises death. He conquered the grave and came for you and me. A day of resurrection, newness. You’ve been here less often. But, that doesn’t void the promise that if he left the grave behind him you will too. You will rise from the loss. There is hope! No matter how long you’ve been stuck in Saturday, Sunday’s comin’. And when it does, you will know joy in ways others haven’t.

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You are not disqualified from this weekend because of your mental illness. There is a place for you at the table and an invitation to celebrate at the empty grave. As you enter into Easter Weekend, may you encounter the Servant King who turns our deserts into gardens.