God of the New Morning,
In the dark, after a long Lenten season, the Easter baskets on display for sleeping boys feels like whiplash.
Wasn’t Jesus’ body just taken down from the cross? The lanterns, torches, and weapons. The betrayal. The aching final breath. I do not blame the disciples who remain in locked rooms this morning. Hope feels foolish after a night like that.
Stop my attempts to understand and simply speak my name.
Into the locked rooms, you go (as you always do). Let the skeptical receive your persistent presence. Let them hear your unreasonable requests – see, hear, receive, GO, rejoice, preach, testify, live without fear.
Wholeness and forgiveness may seem foolish. But as the morning rises, they are all that my heart yearns to be true.
In the name of the One whose return from death means everything,