Is it just me,
but have all the days since this lockdown
started to merge into one?
Monday feels just like Thursday!
The things which structured our daily lives –
the journey to work;
popping down to the coffee shop;
stopping off at the supermarket to pick up dinner –
it’s all gone.
The weekend no longer carries the promise
of a Friday night at the pub,
a football match to go to,
or a meal out.
Sundays are no longer distinguishable
from the rest of the seven-day pack.
Churches are closed;
long weekend lunches with friends are another furloughed pleasure, to be resumed with gusto at an unknown date.
Coronavirus has made everything grey.
And for the time being,
there is no prospect of relief
from our own shapeless days.
But I’ve been thinking that perhaps the regular Thursday night applause,
punctuating the middle of the week,
perhaps offers a glimpse of a way forward.
On Thursday,
millions of Britons stood for a third time on doorsteps and balconies,
making their appreciation for frontline workers
heard in cities, towns and villages.
Clap for Carers began as an online call for applause:
it seems destined to become a weekly national event.
Thursday evening at 8pm has become a collective moment
in which to show heartfelt admiration and solidarity.
Separate, isolated, alone –
yet still we find a way to come together
to show our appreciation, our heartfelt thanks
for the NHS,
emergency services,
farmers,
shop keepers –
everyone who is risking their lives for us.
This I think is the message of Easter.
When all looks bleak and dead, there still is hope, life, love.
Yet more than just hope,
Easter brings resurrection a whole new way of living.
Look at how it happened in the gospels.
After the resurrection,
Jesus had breakfast again with his friends,
showing them the importance of the small,
ordinary things of life.
Easter, even in those early years,
was not a spectacular event forcing people to believe.
Rather it was an event for the friends of Jesus.
It was a very intimate event -
a word here,
a gesture there,
and a gradual awareness
that something new was being born.
Mary Magdalene heard her name.
John and Peter saw the empty tomb.
Jesus' friends felt that their hearts burned
in simple conversations with strangers
and Thomas in a very human gesture,
touched the wounds in Jesus’ hands.
I think its comforting to know that Jesus’ wounds were not taken away,
but remained visible in his risen body.
Our wounds are not taken away either.
Rather they become sources of hope to others.
At Easter we can still feel the pains of the world,
the pains of our family
and the pains of friends in our hearts.
They are still there, and will be there for a long time.
Yet still we gather – separately, in our houses, apart from each other
Yet united in our appreciation for those who are risking their lives
And in thankfulness for him who gave his life.
Because everything now is different:
through Jesus we can live that resurrection life
and we have hope, life, love.
The night is indeed over.
Morning has broken and so together we sing "Alleluia!"