By Thursday of Easter Week, a most curious thing has begun to happen.
The resurrection is still true…
but it has stopped asking our permission to make sense.
On Sunday, everything felt gloriously obvious.
Trumpets! Lilies! Choirs bravely attempting notes usually reserved for celestial beings!
Christ is risen! Of course we rejoice!
But by Thursday, we are back in the ordinary world — emails have returned, dishes have reappeared, and someone, somewhere, has asked a question that begins with, “Just circling back…”
And yet.
Christ is still risen.
Which means joy has now entered a slightly more complicated environment.
Because Easter joy, as it turns out, is not particularly interested in being reasonable.
It shows up in the middle of ordinary days and behaves as though nothing has changed — except everything has.
You see it in the Gospels.
The risen Jesus appears, and the disciples react with a mixture of delight, confusion, and what can only be described as theological bewilderment.
They are overjoyed…
and also not entirely sure what to do next.
Which is, frankly, a very Anglican response.
Jesus stands among them and says, “Peace be with you.”
And they respond, in essence, “Yes, wonderful… but how?”
Because resurrection joy does not immediately tidy up the rest of life.
The Romans are still in charge.
The world is still complicated.
The future is still uncertain.
And yet Jesus is alive.
Which means that joy now has to coexist with unfinished business.
This is where Easter becomes truly powerful.
Because it is one thing to be joyful when everything is resolved.
It is quite another to be joyful when things are still unfolding.
Easter teaches us the second kind.
A joy that is not based on perfect circumstances.
A joy that does not wait for everything to be sorted out.
A joy that quietly insists, even on a Thursday morning, that hope has already won.
And this joy can feel a little… unreasonable.
It may cause you to smile when there is no obvious reason.
It may lead you to forgive sooner than expected.
It may even result in a certain lightness of spirit that others find mildly suspicious.
“You seem rather cheerful,” someone might say.
And you will be tempted to reply, quite truthfully:
“Well… the tomb is empty.”
Which, when you think about it, is a perfectly good explanation for almost anything.
Easter joy does not erase the complexities of life.
But it reframes them.
Because if Christ is risen, then no situation is beyond hope.
No story is finished too soon.
No darkness is final.
And suddenly, even Thursday — that most practical and slightly administrative of days — begins to glow with something unexpected.
Joy.
Not loud, perhaps.
Not overwhelming.
But steady. Persistent. Unreasonable.
The kind of joy that has seen the empty tomb and refuses to behave as though despair still has authority.
So go ahead.
Be cheerfully unreasonable today.
Laugh a little more freely.
Hope a little more boldly.
Carry your Alleluia into places where it may not seem entirely appropriate.
Because Easter has never been particularly concerned with what seems appropriate.
It is far more interested in what is true.
Christ is risen.
And that, it turns out, changes everything…
—even on a Thursday.
Companion Prayer
Risen Lord,
You bring a joy
that does not wait for perfect circumstances.
Teach us to live
with Easter confidence —
to hope boldly,
to love freely,
and to trust your victory
even when the world feels unfinished.
Fill our ordinary days
with your extraordinary life.
And give us the grace
to carry your joy
wherever we go.
Alleluia. Amen.