We are still, liturgically, in the Easter season. I was thinking this morning about those days following the first Easter for those who knew Jesus – his family, his friends, his disciples. It must have been awkward. Strange. Perhaps even uncomfortable.
Some of them had watched him die. Many more had stayed away, whether out of fear, doubt, or grief, but they had heard the truth of what happened. And then suddenly, he was there again—alive, present with them, speaking, eating.
What do you even do with that?
Surely, there were moments when conversation stalled. Moments when someone would catch themselves staring a little too long. Was it really him? Who has that kind of power? What does this mean now?
We see hints of it in the Gospels. Some worshiped, but some doubted. Some clung to him, while others hesitated. They didn’t stop being human just because resurrection had happened. If anything, resurrection made everything more difficult, not less.
Because now they had to live with it.
Resurrection didn’t just change Jesus—it changed them and their world. And it takes time to learn how to live in a changed world.
Maybe that’s where we find ourselves now.
Just days removed from Easter Sunday, the music has faded. The sanctuary is quieter. The Easter flowers are beginning to wilt. And yet, we have proclaimed something greater than human understanding: Christ is risen.
What do we do with that now?
It’s awkward. Strange. Uncomfortable. We return to our routines, but something still lingers in the air. We go back to work, to errands, to ordinary conversations—but underneath it all is this quiet, persistent question: What does Jesus’ resurrection mean for my life? How does it (should it) change my world?
We may not say it out loud, but we feel it. We sense that something has changed—but we’re not yet sure how to live into it. And perhaps that’s okay.
Because the disciples didn’t rush past the strangeness. They stayed with Jesus in it. They allowed resurrection to unfold slowly, shaping them over time. Maybe that’s our invitation, too.
Not to rush back to “normal.” But to sit with the risen Christ. To linger in Scripture a little longer. To notice his presence in unexpected places.
The disciples needed time to sort it all out. And still, Jesus came to them. Still, he stayed with them. And he invited them into a new way of seeing and a new way of living. Perhaps he’s doing the same with us now. Not rushing us. But giving us space where resurrection can begin to take root and change our understanding of God and ourselves.
Prayer: Risen Christ, sometimes I don’t know what to do with your resurrection when the Easter celebration is over. You still meet me in familiar places, yet everything has changed. Give me grace to sit with my questions, courage to trust what I don’t fully understand, and eyes to recognize you in the ordinary moments of my days. Stay with me, Lord, until resurrection takes root in me and changes me as it did your first disciples. Amen.
