A wave of grief and uncertainty washed over Easter for Savannah Guthrie, the host of “Today,” as her mother, Nancy Guthrie, entered her 63rd day of being missing. Guthrie didn’t shy away from the pain, instead offering a raw and deeply personal reflection on faith during a digital Easter gathering.
Nancy Guthrie, 84, vanished from her home in northern Tucson, Arizona, in the early hours of February 1st. A chilling scene awaited investigators: a faint trail of blood leading from the front door, open back doors, and a missing doorbell camera. Security footage revealed a masked figure, yet their identity remains a haunting mystery.
Guthrie openly admitted that the Easter promise of hope felt distant, almost unattainable, amidst the agonizing unknown. She described a feeling that life, in moments like these, could be “far harder than death,” a sentiment laced with profound disappointment and a sense of abandonment.
Her recent ordeal sparked a painful questioning of faith, specifically whether Jesus himself had ever experienced the same crippling uncertainty. Could the Son of God truly comprehend the torment of not knowing what lies ahead, the inexplicable nature of suffering?
A shift in perspective came as Guthrie contemplated the time between the crucifixion and resurrection – a period often glossed over, yet profoundly significant. What did Jesus *know* during those hours in the tomb? Did he perceive his time there as fleeting or eternal?
Guthrie realized that Jesus, too, may have known the agony of indefinite pain, the torment of uncertainty. This revelation reframed her own experience, placing her within a “meantime” – a space defined by waiting, unanswered questions, and the absence of closure.
She acknowledged the feelings of being lost, forgotten, and utterly disappointed that can accompany such a period, even as faith demands trust in a future that remains unseen. It’s a struggle to reconcile belief with the harsh realities of a world often devoid of immediate answers.
Despite the struggle, Guthrie affirmed her unwavering faith, rooted in the belief that God is present even in the silence. Comfort, she suggested, isn’t found in certainty, but in the simple, powerful presence of a higher power.
“It is the darkness that makes this morning’s light so magnificent,” she shared, emphasizing the brilliance of hope born from despair. The light is all the more beautiful, all the more desperately needed, because of the shadows that precede it.
Closing her eyes, Guthrie embraced the warmth of the sun, envisioning a future where heaven and earth become one. Despite the pain, despite the uncertainty, she declared with unwavering conviction: “Happy Easter. I still believe.”
