say it’s not the end

after the rain
Of all days, if there ever was a time to feel sorrow, this is it. The most sombre day in the Christian calendar, Good Friday, this is the day we realize the depth of our failure as a human race.

We have failed to protect our environment, and our children. We have failed to be at peace with our neighbours, and to share our wealth and our food. We have failed to grow, to learn, to stretch, to reach our potential, to live a full life. We have failed to count to 10, to let well enough alone. We have failed to learn the lessons of our past, and to prepare for the future. We have failed to see, to hear, and to speak.

Those of us who attended church today heard a story of betrayal and pain, manipulation and meanness, taunting and tragedy. The thought that the ruthless and jealous and narrow-minded and prejudiced could win (and do win still) is maddening. I feel a surge of rage, a deep well of anger and sorrow stirring within me when I hear this story, because there are so many other stories that happen in the world around me that end (or seem to end) in frustration and weeping. It’s the earthquake in Haiti and the oil spill in Louisiana and the tsunami in Japan. It’s war and poverty and greed. It’s unfair.

And I am implicated. I am in the wrong just as often, or as easily, as I sit in the wings and gnash my teeth. Perhaps the worst agony is knowing that I’m powerless. Or knowing that I would also run away. Like Peter, not wanting to be seen, but unable to turn away. Not wanting to be tarred with the same brush, fleeing the accusing voice, the cowardice in my own heart.

And so the cock crows. The bell tolls. The darkness falls, and we are left alone with our fear and our failure.

[this is not how I want the story to end. so let it continue. let us continue to hope.]

Photo taken April 17, 2011


3 thoughts on “say it’s not the end

  1. Gillian,
    Wow … this is dark. I often feel like this, but am not able to express it was well as you did here. The human race, that’s what brings me down. And my own powerlessness.
    There are days when I think I see little glimpses of hope, but not often.

    [I moved my blog to free]

    • Thanks for your thoughtful response, Rebekah. I know this post is dark… not usually the kind of thing I write here, but I felt it so strongly that day I decided to be brave and just put it out there. I hope I didn’t scare anybody off!

      Hopefully this week I’ll get around to writing a follow-up post, because as I’m sure you know I’m really about hope, not despair. Sometimes all we see are glimpses of hope, but it’s enough to keep us looking!

      • When that oil distaster was, I was going to go down there and help cleaning up birds. They had so many people who wanted to go, so it was ‘full’. That gave me hope … somehow.

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