Hi there, this is Michael Gunger. This is Holy Week for Christians around the world, and with so many of us not being able to get together this week.

We thought we'd do something a little different this week for both the podcast and the Sunday thing, which if you don't know what that is, it's a weekly online discussion group that we do with liturgists folks.

And for the Sunday thing this week we would like to invite you to bring some sort of meaningful spiritual sacrament or symbol with you to your computer.

So I mean, it could be elements of communion. It could be a statue of Shiva or a painting of Carl Sagan doesn't really matter what it is.

But we just like to take some time during the Sunday thing to kind of have a sacred moment together for Holy Week.

You know, with all of our respective beliefs and traditions or lack thereof colliding in sort of one beautiful hodgepodge of liturgists nonsense.

I don't know, I think it'll be fun. And as for the podcast, we thought we just post this liturgy that we recorded for the liturgists early on in our history.

It's for Holy Week, cult garden, and it features material by racial held Evans and science Mike and Rob Bell. I mean, a brown, Gunger and some others.

And we hope that this material can offer you, I don't know, some hope, some sense of connection in a week where we normally are setting extra time to decide to be together and to reflect on the big questions of our existence and issues of life.

Hope you enjoy the podcast and we would love to see you this Sunday 11 a.m. Pacific at the Sunday thing. Don't forget your little sacred cows to bring with you.

You can find out more by the way about the Sunday thing at the liturgists.com, join the community where we also have these liturgies posted and meditations and all sorts of other stuff.

We would love to see you this Sunday, all the love everybody.

There are questions that wait in the shadows, doubts that lurk until we shut the lights off and try to sleep.

The kind of despair that forms its own tape over our mouths when we try to pray the question.

Trimbles in our chest fights its way out of our throats and sticks in the air vapor like warm breath meeting cold wind God.

Where are you? Maybe I shouldn't question you. Maybe I shouldn't doubt you but sometimes I do sometimes life and tragedy and grief make it difficult to believe you I want to.

But sometimes it's hard to so where are you now when I cry when I try when I want to know why where do I find your quiet in the midst of the noise.

How do I not mistake your silence for the thought that you don't hear my voice there are questions that wait in the shadows, doubts that lurk until we shut the lights off and try to sleep.

Darkness such that haunts my soul, desperate longing for an absent God.

Some torture at the pain I can't explain my heart cries.

But you're in the pain I can't explain my heart cries.

Oh my God, where are you? Oh my God, where are you? Oh my God, my God, my God.

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