Wonder Days

What if the most impossible thing you could imagine actually happened?

What if someone came back?

After Jesus died on Good Friday, his friends were lost. They had believed in him with their whole hearts, and now he was gone. They were scared. They were grieving. They didn’t know what to do.

His body had been placed in a tomb — a cave in the hillside, sealed with a large stone. Some women who had been close to Jesus went to the tomb early on Sunday morning. They went to take care of the burial site, the way people did in those days, as a final act of love.

But when they got there, the stone had been moved.

They stepped inside. The tomb was empty.

The women were stunned. And then they saw, or they heard, or they somehow came to understand: Jesus was not there because he had risen. He was alive.

They ran to tell the others.

Nobody believed them at first. That’s worth remembering. The disciples didn’t immediately say, “Of course!” They doubted. They were confused. This was not the kind of thing that happened in the world.

And then, slowly, the risen Jesus appeared to them. Talked to them. Ate with them. One disciple, Thomas, said he would only believe if he could see for himself — and Jesus showed him. Doubt was allowed. Questions were allowed. The story made room for all of it.

This is Easter. The center of everything. The day that changes the meaning of every other day. Death was not the end. The story wasn’t over. Hope — real, unbreakable hope — had entered the world.

How people celebrate today:

Easter always falls on a Sunday, in the early spring. And it begins, for many, before the sun comes up.

Some churches hold what’s called a sunrise service — families bundled in jackets, gathering outdoors in the early gray morning, waiting. And when the first light of the sun breaks over the horizon, there is singing. Trumpets, sometimes. The word Alleluia — which means “praise” — ringing out after weeks of not being said at all.

Inside churches, everything has changed from the quiet of Good Friday. Now there are flowers everywhere — lilies especially, tall and white and sweetly fragrant. There are bells. There are candles. The colors are gold and white and the bright green of new leaves.

Families come together for big meals. Lamb is a traditional Easter food in many cultures, along with fresh bread and spring vegetables.

And then there are eggs. Eggs have meant new life and new beginnings for a very long time. For children, Easter eggs are dyed in all the colors of spring: pink, yellow, purple, sky blue. Sometimes they’re hidden outside in the dewy grass, and the hunt begins with squeals and running and laughter.

But underneath the eggs and the flowers and the food is something older and quieter — the feeling that runs through the whole day. Something like: even in the darkest moments, a door can open. Even when all seems lost, something can turn. Endings are not always the end.