We would sound more sincere, but
we are grumpy and scared and weary and sad.
Some of us, anyway.
We are like John, a little afraid to look in the tomb.
We are like Peter, looking inside but then going back home and locking the door.
We are like Mary, weeping and not seeing you clearly.
There you are, inviting us to converse, inviting us to breakfast, inviting us to start by simply acknowledging you.
And you understand.
You quietly come inside locked doors. You ask about our tears, inviting us to answer when you could say, “grow up and quit whining.”
That’s what we expect. That kind of scolding.
When we tell you that we are sad from the death we’ve known this year.
When we tell you that we miss being with people.
When we tell you about all we’ve lost in the last year.
You tell us that you are here.
When we want answers, you tell us you are here.
When we want things fixed a certain way, you tell us you are here.
Help us today to have a glimpse that you being here is the start of the answer.
Help us today.
Through your presence, Christ our Lord.