We’ve done it again –

            seen love flow with blood on Friday,

            the sacrificial lamb slain,

and then watched –

            a transformed Mary,

            disciples bewildered by joy,

            doubt turned to faith,

            fear and grief fleeing before triumph.

I can see him

            in my mind – alive –

            smiling at their confusion

as chills run down my spine,

            singing with choir announcements

that the tomb is empty,

            and hearing children’s voices

sing ‘Alleluia’ to the Lord.

 

And now I must react to Easter –

            my mind races – react –

How must I respond to the joy of Easter?

            the power of the living Christ here – now?

React: 2000 years later;

            react to a tomb hollow, empty again.

 

The joy flattens,

            the moment evaporates

as I confront my repeated reality

            that I have celebrated Easter Sunday,

but live – live again and again

            by returning over and over to Saturday –

a day of numbness in grief,

            of recurring ‘whys?’

            of focus on pain,

            and wondering where God has gone.

 

Like Peter – walking on a wind battered sea

            I lose sight of the resurrected Lord,

seeing waves seizing feet, ankles, calves, knees,

            sinking in lost perspective –

a Saturday of bills,

            of broken relationships,

            of grief in felt needs,

            of physical pain,

a Saturday of disappointment with life,

            of anxiety about the future,

            of fear for my children,

            of worry about financial security –

a Saturday – a day in-between,

            a day aching for purpose and meaning,

            a day when faith and love burn low,

            a day when love grows cold.

 

You ask for my reaction to Easter,

            and I tell you about Saturday –

Saturday – where I’ve looked for other lambs,

            where I’ve sought security in owning something,

            where I’ve clung to others for reassurance,

            where I’ve grasped for another hope.

 

In a world of changing values and changing people,

            in a world of glitter,

            where heroes fade,

            and bright lights grow dim,

Saturday calls my whole being to reach for Easter –

            Easter – every day of the week.

You ask for my reaction to Easter –

            my heart’s desire cries out to a living Lord,

            my need sings – “O death, where is your victory?”

The resurrected Christ pulls me

            from the waves of Saturday

to see him

            in his glory, power and love.

The resurrected Christ pulls me

            from the futility of my Saturday gods,

and in the sunlight of Easter morning

            I know again,

            there is no other lamb.