We are Sunday People

They sat together

Around a table

The only light filtering through

Small holes in the wall.

There was darkness around them.

It was too quiet

Lonely

And they were afraid.

Their friend,

The Messiah.

The hoped-for one.

The promise

Had been crucified.

He had died.

They were so lost

They couldn’t remember

The words he had given them.

Words of hope

Of love.

Of life.

They could not see

That Saturday would be the last day

They would live without hope.

Without light.

They could not see

That tomorrow would be different.

We live in an unexpected time.

A time of fear and anxiety.

We sit in our homes,

Around our tables,

And it is too quiet.

There are those of us who are sick,

And those of us who are dying.

There are those of us who are grieving,

And those of us who are afraid.

But we don’t live a Saturday life anymore.

We live a Sunday life.

We may not be able to see the light,

But we know it is there.

We may not be able to hear the music of friends,

But we know that they are singing.

Christ has died.

Christ has risen.

And he comes back every day.

Tomorrow we will say alleluia.

We know it.

Because we are Sunday people.