Maybe there is nothing to sing about, on this day when a rape story is shared aloud (one story that symbolizes hundreds, thousands). Despite all of our noise, maybe we have nothing to say that can really improve life or identify truth.
Maybe our tears have run themselves dry after seeing too much evidence of an eye for an eye (is it even that balanced anymore? was it ever?). Maybe the clouds weep on behalf of God today, because how else can One respond to the report that an island nation faces a generation of clean-up and more tremors and more clean-up.
Maybe this year, a holy week’s worth of rituals will leave us, abandoned, without a happy ending, at the Place of the Skull. Maybe the best faith we can show is to put one foot in front of the other, as though tomorrow will surely come.
(There’s a prayer in here somewhere, God…)