This Holy Week, we are tired.

We, too, have a cup we wish would pass from us—not a cup like Jesus', to be sure—but one filled with our sorrows, heavy to bear.

We know an Easter is coming—an Easter of hugs and alleluias—but for the first time for some of us, we are not sure on what day this Easter dawn shall burst forth. We can't comprehend what this new life will look like, or what sign will be shown to us that the day has actually arrived.

Until then, we wait: plunged into a mystery of unknowing, similar to the experience of the disciples. 

In the last month, nearly every aspect of our daily lives was upended. Previously invisible things—rice, toilet paper, viruses—now consume our thoughts. Our minds find little rest. We try to pray, but instead get distracted or exhaustedly fall asleep.

This church year, the quiet darkness before Easter is no longer metaphor.

I invite you to lean into this Holy Week. As we shelter in place, mute the news of the outside world and live inside the disciples' story. As you read the Scriptures and create new ways of worship, you will find you are not alone.

Together, we stumble along the same imperfect path of the earliest church. We await the new life in Christ, yet don't recognize Jesus already risen and appearing before us. We live somewhere between imploring God for relief and submitting to God’s will. And in our confusion, the Holy Spirit finds an opening to whisper to us.

While we wait in this strange garden for Easter's arrival—an arrival as sure as God's promise—I invite you to listen.

In Christ,

The Rev. Deborah K. Hutterer
Bishop
Grand Canyon Synod of the ELCA