Easter Morning
I cannot stay away on Easter Morning.
Like Peter,
I would run if I could.
Stop the car,
pump my arms,
take the church steps two at a time,
all to know—
Did it happen?
Did it really happen?
Is evil no match for love?
I’d slide down the center aisle.
I’d grab the mic to ask
the angels,
the heavens,
the children,
Were the stories true?
And in response, the choir would sing, “Alleluia.”
The children would flower the cross.
The preacher would tell me the stone was rolled away.
The people would pass the peace,
and welcome strangers,
and make room in the pews.
And with faith over doubt,
I would hope.
For I imagine that all of that ordinary holiness
would be enough for Peter,
and it would be enough for me.
Poem by Rev. Sarah Speed
reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art
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