By Monday morning, Easter has encountered its first real test.
Not heresy.
Not persecution.
Not even theological confusion.
No — something far more formidable.
The parish to-do list.
Because however glorious Easter Sunday may be — however radiant the lilies, however triumphant the hymns, however heroic the choir — Monday arrives with a clipboard.
Emails have appeared overnight with remarkable enthusiasm. Bulletins must be prepared. Someone has a question about the flower rota. Someone else has a question about a question.
And somewhere in the midst of all this, a quiet voice says:
“Christ is risen.”
To which the Monday morning mind replies:
“Yes, absolutely… but also, where did I put that file?”
This, you see, is where Easter becomes truly interesting.
Because it is one thing to proclaim resurrection in a church filled with light and music.
It is quite another to carry resurrection into a day that includes paperwork.
And yet — this is precisely where Easter insists on going.
Right into the middle of ordinary life.
The risen Christ does not remain politely in the garden.
He shows up in kitchens.
He appears on roads.
He stands among disciples who are trying to figure out what comes next.
And, one suspects, he would not be entirely surprised to find himself present in a parish office with a slightly overfull inbox.
“Peace be with you,” he says.
Which is a remarkable thing to hear when your schedule is looking mildly ambitious.
Because Easter peace is not the absence of activity.
It is the presence of Christ in the middle of it.
And once you begin to notice that…
…even the most ordinary tasks begin to change.
Answering an email becomes an act of kindness.
Preparing a bulletin becomes a quiet offering.
A conversation becomes an opportunity for grace.
Now, this does not mean that Monday suddenly becomes effortless.
Let us remain realistic.
The emails will still be there. The coffee will still be necessary. The printer will still behave in ways that require prayer.
But beneath all of it, something has shifted.
Because the tomb is empty.
And if the tomb is empty…
…then even the parish to-do list is taking place in a resurrected world.
Which means that nothing you do today is entirely ordinary.
It is all caught up in something larger.
Something alive.
Something joyful.
Something that quietly transforms even the smallest moments.
So go ahead.
Open the emails.
Make the coffee.
Attend to the tasks before you.
But do it with a certain lightness.
Because Easter has already happened.
And it is not going anywhere.
Which means that even Monday…
— even this Monday…
…is filled with resurrection.
Alleluia.
Companion Prayer
Risen Lord,
You meet us
not only in celebration
but in the work of ordinary days.
Be present in our tasks,
our conversations,
and even in our busyness.
Give us patience in small things,
grace in every interaction,
and joy that quietly endures.
And remind us, again and again,
that all we do
is held within your risen life.
Alleluia. Amen.