Then He said to them,
“My soul is very sad and deeply grieved,
so that I am almost dying of sorrow.
Stay here and keep awake and keep watch with Me.”

photo via flickr, copyright Valadis Kostas Papadopoulos


I will not indulge
to scratch
the itch
on insignificant toe;
the prickle grows.
To luxury
should I
demand to cling?

I will embrace
the damp discomfort
of sorrow
on my cheek;
the blackened streak
that runs
erasing care
for lesser things.

I will draw
each breath
in guilt
that this involuntary act
reminds of lack —
the ebb and flow
of air;
the swelling ache.

I will endure
a sleepless night
and pray
with open eyes
that darkened
skies will pass and
life will
again awake.


I originally wrote this poem back in 2009 after the Black Saturday fires which claimed nearly two-hundred lives. In the way that all things seem to come back around, in the way that life is a part of death, waking and sleeping, breathing in and exhaling – the theme of resurrection comes in cycles, and I was reminded of this poem this week, during reflection of the Easter story. Though there is darkness and uncertainty, there is always the hope and promise of Sunday.

I would love to know what this season means for you. Do you celebrate? How do you hold the sorrow and hope in tension?