I walked down to my church the morning after Easter Sunday. I pulled open the door and slipped inside about 15 minutes before daily Mass was to begin. The lights not yet lit; it was still dark inside. As I approached the altar, I couldn’t help but smile. The flowers — so lovely the day before — waited for me on this quiet next day. The faint smell of incense still hung in the air.
It’s still Easter.
What a gift to belong to a community where the long and enduring tradition grants us weeks to recognize and joyfully celebrate the risen Lord. For those of us who think deeply and fully and so, process slowly, these liturgical seasons allow the meaning of the feast to seep deep into our bones. Like a gentle unfurling, the truth comes alive over time. What does it all mean? What can it all mean? It’s still Easter. I still have time to understand.
“Do not be afraid … ” It’s true, I brought fears with me this morning, anxieties that clamored for my attention as I walked and distracted me from the beauty of a fine, New England spring morning. Dear Lord, resurrect my faith, so trampled under the weight of my fears.
“I know that you seek Jesus.” I do. I do seek him with all my heart. But sometimes I miss him because my soul searches for the things of God among the idols of men. Dear Lord, remind me and convict me of the truth that every good thing I long for can be found in you.
“He is not here, for he has risen … ” The lights have come on now inside the church. I lift my eyes to take in the beauty of the flowers, the candles, the glory of a space that rejoices in the risen Christ. My heart lifts, too. Dear Lord, please let me feel the swelling joy, this lightness of spirit even when I leave here and move about a broken world.
“ … as he said.” He said it. He promised it. Jesus keeps his promises. He can be trusted. Dear Lord, help me live as if I believe that you are safe and trustworthy, and I know that you are everything you say you are.
“Come, see … ” Angels invited the women to see for themselves that their Lord and Savior — their friend — had truly risen. And God himself invites me into these personal revelations daily. Dear Lord, let me never be too busy or in too much of a hurry to take you up on your invitation to come and see what you have for me — in word and in sacrament.
“Then go quickly and tell his disciples … ” The homily on Easter Sunday encouraged me to be unafraid of being the odd one out, to be courageous in living my faith out loud. Quite frankly, our priest challenged us to be weird. That was his word. And it works. Dear Lord, grant me the grace to proclaim the truth with my life. Let my message be bold and gracious and joyful and triumphant. Let me live today and every day as if it is still Easter.
Amen.
Foss, whose website is takeupandread.org, writes from Connecticut.
