Where is the hope and Where is the faith

It was early on Saturday morning, and the world paused for breath. The sabbath, the day of rest, but how would they find rest this Sabbath day? 

Friday had been and gone. Friday with its tear and pain, with its hopelessness and despair, with its crushing of dreams and the final, brutal, ending of hope. Friday, when all they had longed and hoped for was ripped away from them, leaving them alone, and in the darkness.

And yet, buried within each of them, hidden deep in the hearts, so well hidden that they dare not even acknowledge its existence, a small kernel of faith remained. A kernel, small as a mustard seed, waiting, waiting, waiting for Sunday

Because however dark it seems, there is a light shining in that darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it. A like those kernels of faith, the light also waits for Sunday...

And what a Sunday! Bursting forth, from the cross on the hill, and from the mouth of the empty tomb, the light erupts and overflows, pouring out into their lives, joining with those kernels of faith, and spreading, growing, flowing out, from heart to heart, a river of love and mercy and light and healing and Grace.

Friday, with its darkness and pain has been gone. But Sunday stands before us.