We take completely for granted that "to go on" is unquestionably desirable. But what if the empty tomb means something else? What if it is the sum total of the most unspeakable horror that humankind could ever be confronted with, which is: Life, no matter what, irrevocably and eternally, will go on.
In the end this is all that love is if it is anything, all that lovers are if they are really lovers, and all that God is if God is worthy of that name: that which refuses to leave you, that guards and affirms the reality of all your sufferings, that will sit with you even though you might refuse to believe it is real.
Real love is nothing more or less than presence.
"Charity for charity, compassion for compassion, empathy for empathy, patience for patience. Even the virtues require mercy because they are not always with us, and never in their totality Their reclamation is itself a work of love, not a reason to despair. Stretched to capacity in the midst of our weary raggedness, mercy for mercy is the essence of grace."