There is something sacred about Saturday’s stillness in the passion account.

The disciples didn’t have eyes to see that hope was brimming under the surface. They were full of grief and despair, longing and fear.

But we are of those who see the dawn of Sunday. And yet, here we sit: BETWEEN.

As I worked through the paperwork, tears streaming down my face, I wrote the date and all of a sudden realised that it was Good Friday. The darkest day in the history of the world—the Son of Man, slain for the sins of the world. His body broken and bruised, poured out as an offering. I lifted my heart up to Jesus in that waiting room and felt His presence so strongly in that room.

He had died for this very moment.

I beg You to look down at me- at the losses and broken places, the grief and the ache and say enough.

ENOUGH.

I beg You to say it.

Blow the whistle.

Call for a Season of Rest.

God, do you want to walk away too?

Am I easy to leave? Easy to replace?

Will you always be here, or does our relationship have an expiration date?

Where are you when the chair beside me is empty?

When we are not heard, we begin to believe that there is no reason to speak. We retreat further and further inward and in time, lose ourselves completely. I know this shame far too well. It’s my marriage story and it’s a painful one.

When "love" breaks your heart and walks away it's hard to trust that God's love is any different. When love feels only broken and shaky, look to the cross of Jesus and see, remember and meditate on a Love that has not, will not, could not end. Take note of the differences and remember, real Love NEVER fails.

David cries out in Psalm 13, “How long Lord?”

Four times we hear this same plea. Do you think his cries got louder and angrier with each “how long”?

Maybe I’m just projecting my own angst onto his words…

"Lament is prayer in pain that leads to trust…”

Mark Vroegop in Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy

Lent just seems like the right time to admit that everything feels a bit broken. It seems like the perfect time to remind ourselves that while, yes, everything is dark and shattered, IT WILL NOT ALWAYS BE SO.

Join us as we learn to welcome biblical lament into our lives. We pray it stirs up fresh, raw hope within you in the days to come.

He was despised and rejected by men,

a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief…

He tears me down on every side so that I am ruined.

He uproots my hope like a tree.

I will say to God, my rock,

“Why have You forgotten me?

Why must I go about

in sorrow…?

Blessed be the Lord, for He has heard the sound of my pleading.

The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and I am helped.

Has his faithful love ceased forever?

Is his promise at an end for all generations?

Has God forgotten to be gracious?

Has he in anger withheld his compassion?”

How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?

How long will I store up anxious concerns within me, agony in my mind every day?

Lent just seems like the right time to admit that everything feels a bit broken. It seems like the perfect time to remind ourselves that while, yes, everything is dark and shattered, IT WILL NOT ALWAYS BE SO.

Join us as we learn to welcome biblical lament into our lives. We pray it stirs up fresh, raw hope within you in the days to come.