Resurrection Sunday. It is a bittersweet time for me because every time we speak of death and resurrection, I am reminded of those who have gone on ahead of us. My father, a dear friend, gone so suddenly just a couple of months ago, a staff member, just last week; and although I know I will see them again, one day, the grief is palpable, always, tucked away in the recesses of my heart.
The grave holds no victory, and death has no sting, I remind myself even as a myriad of emotions threaten to hold sway in the midst of service. And then this.
A thousand miles, off the southern coast, at the island nation of Sri Lanka. News trickle in. Our friends are safe, but others? Many attending church services, family members, children. Gone in an instant. Many painfully, horrifically so.
Why?
Why?
Why today? Why any day?
Why this? Such hatred?
Why children?
Why?
Blood
Upon
The
Firmaments
Crimson
Trickle
Every
Where
Blood
Yet
Another
Chasm
Pain
Unending
Hearts
Souls
Shut
Asunder
Nothing
Remains
Nothing
Ever
Blood
Rancid
Crimson
Life
Ebbing
A puddle
Vast
Seeping
Bitter
Nothing
Remains
Not
Love
Not
Life
Nothing
No one
Not
One.
Blood
Cries out
Dark
Ebbing
What
Have
You
Done…?
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