No one else can see this.
Alone in the sanctuary I move from pulpit to altar to lectern
Exchanging bare wood for the white paraments of Easter.
The sanctuary is uneasy when it’s left unclothed
Maybe it’s because we only leave it that way once a year
On the day where we remember that God died
On the day the light goes out.
It doesn’t feel right. It shouldn’t feel right. But it’s reality
But now, we can begin again.
The sanctuary refuses to stay bare forever.
It refuses to stay blank for long.
When the congregation files in tomorrow I hope they see something beautiful
Life returns to a place that desperately needs it.
The smells of creation filling this sanctuary as I drag in lilies that we had to hide on Friday.
And the cross, so recently a symbol of death and decay stands triumphantly empty, silhouetted by white blossoms and buds still waiting to bloom.
New life continues to grow
And so I keep moving from one place to another around the room, transforming a place that was left barren not a day ago into a place where life is found again.
I wonder if this is what God felt like
Working and preparing a display of new life in a place that had so recently been barren
No one else can see this
But we have to make ready anyway