In the midst

Wednesday of the Second Week of Advent

My soul melts away for sorrow;
strengthen me according to your word.
Psalm 119:28

I pick up a handful of dirt outside the mausoleum. It has rained recently, so the earth is damp and clumps a bit. We gather for the final prayers and I release the dirt from my hand, slowly scattering it onto the coffin. A small ritual marking a momentous rift.

Again and again I travel within the landscape of grief; sometimes it is my own, sometimes I am accompanying others, often is startles me with its unaccountable timing and intensity. Sorrow can be numbing, cleansing, overwhelming, necessary, inexplicable, healing.

The prophets pave the Advent way with reminders that mourning is not our end. I hold fast to these words of comfort--about putting away the garments of sorrow, about being gathered home, about being cherished by the Almighty. The Word is coming, and is already here. The Holy One is in the midst of us. 

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