By Wednesday, Easter has reached a particularly advanced stage.
It has begun to interfere… with our irritations.
Now, this is where things become spiritually serious.
It is one thing for resurrection to inspire joy on a Sunday. It is quite another for it to insert itself into those small, entirely ordinary moments that test the limits of our sanctification.
You know the ones.
The email that could have been clearer.
The meeting that could have been shorter.
The conversation that begins with, “Just one quick thing…” and proceeds to unfold with liturgical length.
These are the moments in which we are most tempted to set aside our Easter Alleluias and return, briefly, to a more… pre-resurrection frame of mind.
And yet.
Christ is risen.
Which means — inconveniently — that even these moments now belong to Easter.
The risen Christ, you may recall, did not limit his appearances to carefully curated spiritual settings.
He appeared to disciples who were confused.
To followers who were tired.
To people who were still trying to figure out what had just happened.
In other words, to people who were not having a perfectly serene week.
And into that very human reality, he speaks:
“Peace be with you.”
Which, if we are honest, is not always our first instinct.
Our first instinct is often something more along the lines of:
“Well, this could have gone better.”
But Easter gently interrupts that instinct.
Because resurrection is not only about victory over death.
It is also about transformation in life.
It is about the slow, steady reshaping of how we respond — especially in those small, seemingly insignificant moments.
You may notice this today.
A pause before responding sharply.
A moment of grace where irritation had been preparing its speech.
A willingness to laugh — even at yourself.
This is resurrection at work.
Not dramatic.
But deeply powerful.
Because it is precisely in these small moments that the life of Christ begins to take root in us.
And here is where the joy comes in.
Because once you begin to see this…
…it becomes almost impossible not to smile.
Not because everything is perfect.
But because even your imperfections are now caught up in something larger.
Something patient.
Something forgiving.
Something alive.
Easter joy, you see, is not delicate.
It is resilient.
It can survive a long meeting.
It can endure a confusing email.
It can even persist through a conversation that could have been an email.
Which, if that is not a miracle, I am not entirely sure what is.
So today, when the small irritations of life begin to gather — as they so faithfully do — remember this:
The tomb is empty.
And if the tomb is empty…
…then even this moment can be filled with grace.
So take a breath.
Smile gently.
And allow resurrection to do its quiet work.
Because Easter is not only for the grand moments.
It is for this moment.
Right here.
Alleluia.
Companion Prayer
Risen Lord,
You meet us
in the small moments
as well as the great ones.
When we are tempted toward irritation,
give us patience.
When we are weary,
give us joy.
Let your resurrection
shape our responses,
soften our hearts,
and fill our lives with grace.
And in all things,
teach us to live
as people of the empty tomb.
Alleluia. Amen.