April 15, 2022

“The next day, when Moses went into the Tent, he saw that Aaron’s stick, representing the tribe of Levi, had sprouted. It had budded, blossomed, and produced ripe almonds!” Numbers 17:8

Today is Good Friday, which seems like the worst misnomer of all time. I did a bit of research and discovered that the word “good” is from the sense of pious or holy. In the Catholic Church it is called the equivalent of Friday of the Passion and Death of the Lord; in German-speaking countries Mourning Friday, Silent Friday, High Friday, Holy Friday, or Long Friday. In Greek, Polish, Hungarian, Romanian, Armenian and Arabic it is Great Friday. In Bulgarian, it is called either  Great Friday or Crucified Friday. In French, Italian and Spanish it is referred to  as Holy Friday, and in Malayalam, it is called Sad Friday. I prefer any of these to Good Friday.

I spent much of my free time the past few days spreading mulch in the various flower beds in my yard. To my great surprise, yesterday, on the eve of Sad Friday, I discovered three tiny sprouts of Easter Lilies growing out of the roots of a butterfly bush. I thought I’d dug up all the bulbs that last summer to replant elsewhere. But there they were, valiantly sprouting. It was a tiny sign of new life, of the hope of resurrection amidst the passion and death of the Lord, the silence of the tomb, the long day, crucified Friday. I replanted them in a spot with less interference from roots, and where they will not need to compete for sun and water.

This little sprout of hope is enough to carry me through to Easter, and beyond, as I live in this season of grief. Hope is realizing that those Easter Lilies survived, and if they can, so can I. So do those who have passed before me through the valley of the shadow of death, who are now seated at the table of the Lord.

For this tiny sprout of hope, I give God thanks ~ Anne

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