Pale light signaled the coming dawn. Familiar little hands reached to be lifted into bed for our pre-dawn snuggle ritual. But there was another sound. A larger child.
"Do you want help with Zander?" He asked.
Andrew, my almost 12 year old, was too excited to stay in bed. After 40+ days without video games, today was the day.
We are leaving Easter day on a big RV trip but he wanted to play video games with his friends as part of his Easter celebration. He took Lent seriously. This would be his personal garden good news moment.
We had planned it. I started my last fast with the last supper (which completed with a giant chocolate chip cookie) so we were planning to get breakfast together then pickup his friends for some epic video game action.
The sun was creeping up and the air was crisp as we got into the cold van. Golden arches glowed at the end of the street. Illumined open sign glowed into the still dark morning.
Egg mcmuffin and a diet coke. A quiet but very deep celebration of the end of a season of fasting.
We talked about those grief stricken women. Up early to do the one thing that dominated their thoughts. Pay respects to the Lord who was so violently taken from them. They did not greet Easter morning with joy. It was just doing the next right thing. Not seeing the next step after that.
Arriving in the garden to an empty tomb must have been more bad news piled on. It was despicable to murder him. But did they really have to steal and defame his body? Could they not even be left to their grief.
I savored my meal and my early glimpse at the risen lord but those women stayed in my heart.
I picked up Andrew's friends and we came home. My other kids were up and excited. Everyone fell instantly into their screens. It was a big collaborative game and they were laughing and chatting and strategizing and completely unaware of my existence.
Parenting was easy this morning.
So I went about my cleaning and joined the women in the way to the garden. We women do the things. We prepare meals and homes. We make sure children have everything they need for school and that everyone is packed for vacation. We cook potlucks for funerals and baptisms. We are the backbone of community, of church. And Sometimes, our deepest expressions of love and grief is work we do with our hands. Especially in moments like this too terrible for words. Too terrible even for tears. We hold on to each other and we work, side by side in holy silence.
And so I worked silently preparing for the Easter day of my lord. I prepared my Sunday school lesson. I cleaned my house. I did laundry. I made beds.
In our grief sometimes the only thing to do is to do the next thing. Clear the table. Make coffee. Buy eggs. Vacuum the rug. Take out the trash. It needs doing. We need a single point to focus on.
But the work is a declaration of the choice to continue living. It is a step forward into a new unknown. It is a silent sliver of hope that we can grab on to. It is a vigil we hold, a space we create. And when we do it together we hold each other up. We hold each other's grief.
But people hadn't stolen the body.
Angels sat in the tomb and declared. "He is not here. Why do you look for living among the dead. "...And their clothes gleamed like lightning.
And the night became day. The dark became light and the women witnessed it all.
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