There is, in today, a tentativeness.

There will be for some of you a remarkable celebration. Large crowd, large concert. Pipe organ. Bright lights. You will feel amazed. And amazing. Then there will be a conversation with someone and you will say, “What happened to that feeling?”

There will be for some of you a remarkable nap. A calmness, a sense of holiday that comes in late April when there actually are flowers (for those of us in the northern hemisphere) or still not too coldness (for those of you in the southern hemisphere.) You will feel nice. Then there will be a conversation with someone and you will say, “What happened to that feeling.”

There will be for some of you a painful remembrance. It will be the first Easter since ___ died which was two days ago for four very good friends of mine.  It will be the thirty-ninth Easter since ___ died, who was the anchor for your family. It will be the reminder of a broken relationship or a breaking-down body.

In that moment of uncertainty, of a flick of fear, a deaden of despair, think of Easter.

Jesus was dead and then he wasn’t. The women on their way to put spices on a body were heading to a funeral. The guys gathering behind closed doors were lamenting the future they committed to and watched die. There was, among all the people who had followed Jesus, the knowledge of what he said about giving life and coming back to life and the knowledge of their eyes and ears and hands that the speaker of those words was unable to ever speak again.

They knew exactly what no hope felt like. They knew exactly how you feel.

No wonder they didn’t believe it was true.

Until they did.