Thought for the Day: Saturday Vigil is one of the busiest days of the year for me: moving many lilies into the sanctuary, changing out the altar cloths from purple or black to white, colorful, or springlike. One year it meant bringing a beautifully-created well into the sanctuary and adorning it with green cloth and lilies.
But this year, it was already done.
Sunday morning had a different sense, one that is usually ignored on Easter morning: a slow ascent of the sun, a gentle drift from night to day, a stillness with no planes, cars, or people bustling toward their trip to church or out to eat.
Was it a morning like this?
Next year, when the world is back to it’s business and social distancing a thing of the past, we may look back fondly on this past Sunday’s Easter – an Easter with empty parking lots, closed restaurants and mini-egg hunts on individual front lawns, and say, “I remember when.” This is a special time that speaks to the quiet communion that occurs in that early morning light; the same communion that takes place when one puts bare feet in the waves; the same communion that takes place when most people are still asleep and we are awake. It is a first-hand experience of the day the rock was rolled away from the tomb, when no one was getting ready for church then, either.
Prayer: Your presence comes to us in quiet surprises – in empty tombs, little children, and still small voices. And as we summon the courage to look beyond the traditions set for us as to how to celebrate our communion with You, enhance our awareness – guide our hands to touch the wounds from the nails; so that we come back to believe that even in this moment You are right here with us. Amen.
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