It’s the first week of Easter break, but who really cares? There’s no visible change to the scenery, I can travel from my bed to the kitchen to the balcony with an occasional layover in the bathroom. Things have become so dull, so same, so lifeless.
It’s actually the perfect way to begin Holy Week.
In a week when we remember a life giving story in the midst of darkness, it can be difficult to grasp such abstract concepts like sin and forgiveness, death and resurrection. So many of us struggle to feel the right things at the right time because it all just seems so removed from our reality.
This year the darkness has become tangible.
For weeks now public life has stopped and we’re confined to our own spaces. While some of us might appreciate this unexpected pause in their busy lives, you might also be one who struggles to enjoy this time.
You who lives with the risk of domestic violence, turning your safe home into a war zone.
You who craves just a short moment to yourself without your partner, children or siblings demanding more of your time and energy.
You who has not seen or touched another human face in weeks.
You who feels the weight of isolation taking its toll on you as loneliness seeps through your body and slowly takes a hold of your mind and soul.
You who are crammed into broken cold tents on an island at the outskirts of Europe, waiting for a promise to be fulfilled.
You who are most at risk from dying of our merciless politics and rejection.
You who have seen your dreams of a birthday, a vacation, a wedding being taken from you without warning.
You who have closed your shop and don’t know if you’ll ever reopen.
You who face illness with no chance of a cure.
You who have lost a loved one in this time and find no safe space to mourn.
You who feel like your grief is going to overpower you.
You who wonder how long this uncertainty will last.
Welcome to the darkness.
Maybe this is what Holy Week is about: As we lean into this unknown space together struggling to make sense of it all, we gain a bit more understanding of this death so long ago. No matter where you are on this planet, in your life span, in your emotions – the darkness encompasses us all and makes us one.
We become aware of each other’s suffering.
We feel each other’s pain.
We grow closer as we blindly stumble towards the light.
Writing for Five Minute Friday today.
thisiskatha.com 
A powerful perspective and reminder for this time, Katha. Danke.
Thanks, Joshua!
Some would say my life is dark
(they see me writhe in pain!),
but it is not to jump the shark
to say that dying’s gain.
My days are now so very full
of Christ, the Groovy King,
and there is nothing sad or dull
about Icarian wing
that He’s made with special wax
so heart can soar for fun
above bummed-out cancer’s attacks,
formation-flying with the Son
in practise, now, for that day
when I’ll fly home with Him to stay.
Thanks, Andrew, for this fantastic journey your poem takes us on – what an interesting twist on the Icarus tale!