It was a dark and stormy night...

It was a cold and rainy night.  At least that's how I usually picture it.  The disciples, at a loss for words and hope start come looking for something familiar.  One at a time they come from wherever they went to hide and they return to a place they had gathered many times with Him.  No words are spoken.  Some have makeshift coverings to keep out of the rain.  Others aren't even aware enough to care.  But they come, seeking something they have known, seeking some kind of comfort, seeking community.

Their world has been shattered.  Their lives forever changed.  Their hope and excitement has been stolen.  Their leader/teacher/mentor, the Messiah, is dead.  They barely exist in this moment.  They've given up jobs, families, futures, and security.  And now what?  Will they have to return to their families ashamed but admitting they were wrong?  How will they live?  Better yet, what will they live for?  It's a cold, dark, and stormy night, even in the spiritual realm, and everyone can feel it.

I imagine sometimes what that night must have been, or at least may have been like.  As several have gathered and others begin to show someone starts a fire and the all huddle close to get a little warmth.  As more join the circle around the little fire I can hear the beginnings of sentences, many of which are never finished.  Do you remember the time...  Yeah but...  What do you think...  What are you going to do now?  Where are you going to go?  I remember...  I thought...  I was...  Wasn't he... He could have...

And silence.  Comforted by the warmth of the fire and the familiar company and a presence they all feel but can't quite explain they wait out the night mostly in silent reflection on their own thoughts.  Where do we go from here?  What happens now?  Some may even drift off to a troubled sleep.  Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow...


Less of me, more of Him,
Eric