This morning, the church was decked out in flowers and light, there was a new Paschal Candle and everything was back in place after the desolation and violence of the past few days.
There was much rejoicing.
All seemed well with the world.
Then I remembered how Mark’s gospel ends:
So they* went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
and I didn’t feel quite so triumphant.
I’m not quite sure what I think any more.
I’m very happy to celebrate a victory that was won on our behalf (that we had no hand in winning, and indeed was won despite our best efforts) and I will be eternally grateful that what Jesus did has set things right between God and us, but the awareness that we are still a work in progress and have been given a job to do that our incompleteness will continue to get in the way of is leaving that celebration feeling a little muted.
*Mary and the other women who had gone to embalm Jesus but encountered mysterious men in white instead of a corpse.