Liturgy begins in five hours and forty-five minutes. It feels, oddly, like preparing for a spacecraft launch to the moon. In fact, we may be going much, much further into the cosmos. Excitement is building!
It is in this time of busyness, of preparation, of baking and boiling, of latticing and wrapping, of measuring and counting, of heating and cooling, that I sense the tension in my shoulders. I sense the pain in my back, and realize that any astronaut knows to rest before the launch. The journey that begins at 11pm is a long and rigorous (and joyful!) journey. I will need my strength for the upcoming liturgical perseverance.
I brew my espresso, feeling instantly comforted by the tiny clink of cup and (mismatched, thrifted) saucer. I feel the rain-scented air, laden with sentiments equally soothing and ominous. I remember to breathe.
And most of all, I try to remind myself, as I have had to remind myself so many times during the last fifty-odd days of lent...that no matter how badly I fail, no matter how hard I fall, Christ is still risen. Whether I make it to the Paschal services and picnics, or not, my joy can be recentered in that very sturdy, certain foundation. Apple pie or no apple pie. Pistachio ice cream or no pistachio ice cream.
My failings (even the non-pie related, substantial failings) do not affect the great victory of the Son of God. I can rejoice right now (and BREATHE) and rest spiritually even in the midst of my struggle.
It is great to struggle and succeed. It's great to work and taste the fruit of our labor. But what is really great is that even in my worst failings, Christ is victorious. In the midst of the most opaque and oppressive darkness, the true light is come.
From here, even here, with my clumsy footing and tenuous grappling of faith, my outlook into the cosmos is bright, indeed.
Christ is risen! Glorify Him!
-Natasha
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