Early Dawn

It was still dark as I arrived at the parish this morning. There is a wonderful stillness when you enter the church in the early morning, a gentle sense of hospitality surrounds you as you move from the outer door toward the chancel. You can feel almost a mysterious invitation to come, pray, sit awhile. The altar guild, who had feverishly worked so hard yesterday making sure that everything was just so for the Easter liturgies were now gone, everything is readied. I don't think I ever remember the church looking so beautiful and so inviting to guest and parishioner. The bird's song is beginning to break the stillness, announcing the first Allelulia of the new day. Soon people will begin to gather, most likely it will be a larger congregation than most Sundays: visitors from out of town, grandparents or children visiting, occasional worshipers will make their way in through the narthex as they did at the time of the celebration of our Lord's birth. Many will have come, expecting to hear some good news, and yet they were not present on Good Friday, they don't really know the story of their own rebirth into God that took place on a Cross near the city. It is only when they understand the profound terror and grief that took place on that day that they will begin to understand the fresh newness and power of the resurrection to transform mortal lives. I can only pray that they will leave with just a glimpse of renewed hope, faith, and love; that they will awaken to the beauty around them, that they will begin to know a God who without partiality embraces even the most unloved. May this Easter fill us with eternal joy!