Early Easter morning
It’s just after 6 a.m. when I pull into the church parking lot. It’s still dark, and the steady rain makes me glad we decided to hold the sunrise service inside. I’m balancing a vase of daffodils for the communion table between my knees, and I’m hoping my good brown shoes are under the desk in my office, because they weren’t under my bed at home.
I’m always early on Sunday mornings, but this is earlier than usual. The service doesn’t start for another hour and a half, but I want to go over my sermon and make sure the table gets set up just right. I have coffee with me, but I don’t really need it; I was wide awake as soon as my alarm went off, ticking through the details that need to be taken care of this morning, fueled by adrenaline and the anticipation of the day ahead.
The church is still when I unlock the door, stiller than usual—in contrast to the drumming of rain outside. Only the exit signs provide any light in the hall. The sanctuary is in shadow, too, but I can make out the cross at the front, draped in white and waiting to be dressed up by flowers at the early service. I was here when the decorating crew was hard at work yesterday; I’ve seen all this before. Still, I’m awestruck at the sight of it.
