By Friday, something quite extraordinary has happened.
Easter has not only survived the week…
…it has started setting the table.
Now, Fridays are not usually known for their festive qualities.
They tend to arrive with a certain seriousness. There are tasks to complete, loose ends to gather, and at least one moment in the day when you look at the clock and think, “Surely it must be later than this.”
And yet.
Christ is risen.
Which means that even Friday has been quietly transformed.
Because in the resurrection appearances, something curious keeps happening.
Jesus eats.
Not once. Not as a symbolic gesture. But repeatedly.
Fish by the lakeshore.
Bread in a house.
Meals shared with friends who are still trying to understand what on earth is going on.
Which tells us something deeply important about Easter:
Resurrection is not abstract.
It is lived.
It is shared.
It shows up at the table.
Now this is very good news for a Friday.
Because Fridays often feel like the day when we are simply trying to get through.
Get through the tasks.
Get through the meetings.
Get through that last conversation that has been waiting patiently since Wednesday.
But Easter gently reframes the day.
What if today is not something to get through…
…but something to receive?
What if even the ordinary moments — a cup of coffee, a shared meal, a brief conversation — are already part of something larger?
Because when Christ is risen, even the simplest things begin to carry a kind of quiet radiance.
The table becomes a place of grace.
The meal becomes an act of gratitude.
The conversation becomes a moment of connection.
Now, this does not require anything elaborate.
Let us not panic and attempt a five-course liturgical lunch.
It may be as simple as pausing long enough to notice.
To notice the gift of the moment.
To notice the presence of others.
To notice that even here — yes, even on a Friday — life is being offered.
This is resurrection at its most delightful.
Not overwhelming.
But generous.
Quietly turning the ordinary into something like a feast.
And here is where the joy begins to overflow.
Because once you begin to live this way…
…everything starts to feel a little more abundant.
Not because there is suddenly more of everything.
But because what is already there is seen differently.
As gift.
As grace.
As part of a world where the tomb is empty.
So today, take a moment.
Sit down.
Breathe.
Receive the day.
And perhaps — if you are feeling particularly adventurous — share something of it with someone else.
A conversation.
A kindness.
A moment of laughter.
Because Easter joy is meant to be shared.
And once it is…
…it multiplies.
Which, as it turns out, is exactly how feasts work.
Even on a Friday.
Alleluia.
Companion Prayer
Risen Lord,
You meet us
in the simple gifts of daily life.
Open our eyes
to the abundance around us.
Teach us to receive each moment
with gratitude,
to share what we have with joy,
and to recognize your presence
at every table.
And let our lives become
a quiet feast of grace
in a world made new by you.
Alleluia. Amen.