My favorite Easter video, one I play every year, is titled, “It’s Friday, But Sunday’s Coming.” Before YouTube, before hardly anything was online, back when I was in college, my mom heard the sermon and she called and told me about it. “It’s Friday,” she said, “but Sunday’s coming.”
It’s Friday. Everything is going wrong. Jesus has been put in the tomb and a giant boulder rolled in front of the door. He’s sealed in, or we’re sealed out. Seems fitting for right now.
We’re quarantined. For some, the last paychecks are starting to run out. Rent has been paid for the last time, maybe. For those who are still receiving a paycheck, there’s always the question of whether your company is going to make it through this. What about the banks, will they stay open?
How long will truckers be able to stay on the roads if restaurants and truck stops are closed? How long will stores stay open if they’re not getting supplies like they need?
We’re quarantined. Here in upstate NY, it’s still in that inbetween state that isn’t quite summer, but still carries the dredges of winter. The world looks as grey and dreary as things are starting to feel.
I looked at this picture yesterday and had no idea what to write about. I’d just shared how hard it’s starting to get, how it doesn’t feel fun anymore. So how do you write about a bumble bee after that?
But the more I looked at it, the more I thought about summer. About nice weather and even if you can’t get together with friends and family, at least being able to get outside and watch the bees and drink in the sunlight.
Yes, we’re quarantined, but it’s not forever. Even when it feels like everything is crashing around us, it’s not forever. On that Friday, it probably felt like there could be no tomorrow. There wasn’t a way to keep going. All meaning had been lost.
That was Friday, but Sunday came, bringing with it life and promise and the resurrection.
Soon, this will be a period that we’ll look back on. That will be written in history books and our children and grandchildren and even great grandchildren will ask us about, “Grandma, were you alive then?”
We’re quarantined, but it’s not the end of the story. Summer is coming. ?