Easter is a strange time in the life of the church. We begin with a single day, when our Lord disappeared from the cold, shadow-filled tomb and went on walk-about throughout the land of his birth. The women who saw him slowly began to tell the tale, or quickly, depending on which version you’re reading. And people began to believe.

It is not a very clean story. In fact, it is quite messy. It is honest. And real. And you can feel the tingles in your bones if you let yourself.

Perhaps there is a gift in there.

As beautiful and perfect as we desire our Easter Sunday services to be, with their glorious music and gorgeous flowers, they do not reflect the candid reality of what actually occurred that first resurrection morning.

But you know what does?

Real life.

Because everyday life, when we have trouble getting ourselves out of bed, or can barely bring ourselves to face a given situation, or are unsure that what we are seeing is true – that is far more akin to what the original disciples faced. That is the true reality of Easter.

I don’t know about you all, but I find that a very big comfort. And not only on a professional level when we realize that we haven’t put together enough Communion packets.

I am far more comforted by these messy and complicated and honest visions of human disciples when the day after Easter I can barely move because the weight of the world is too much. My grief is still pressing me to my bed. And I have trouble breathing because of all the ridiculous, hate-filled lies I hear in our midst.

Those are the moments when the angels words come back to me: he is going ahead of you… Those are the moments when resurrection actually takes on real meaning for me.