[the day after]

[the day after]

I walked outside today and marveled at the Spring’s final arrival in Kyiv. The sun is shining brightly, the birds are singing happily, the people squint and smile enjoying the warmth.

Then I thought of another thing. It’s Black Saturday today. Yesterday was the Passion (Good) Friday.

Did the sun shine on that Saturday? Were the birds singing?

Probably yes.

However, for a group of people it didn’t matter. Perhaps it seemed like they will never be happy again. Death does have the same power as a Dementor – it saps one of joy and hope, leaving only coldness inside that makes you shiver even in the warmest summer day.

Although Jesus told his disciples countless times that He will rise from the dead, they did not know it for sure. (It’s easy to judge them, but I suspect I would be just like Thomas.)

The day after is one of the worst when it comes to grief. The first week is the toughest to survive. The shock wears off and the realization sets in: our loved one is not around anymore.

I honestly don’t know how atheists cope with losing someone to death. As Christians, we are incredibly blessed with the hope of a promise. However, even though we know that we haven’t truly lost our friends or relatives, it is still hard to deal with life going on elsewhere like nothing happened. It can make one almost angry with the rest of the world for keeping on living.

“You don’t get it, he is gone. What’s the point of it all?”

Did the disciples ask that question? I think it might’ve entered their minds.

But in a day, they will find out.

He is risen.

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