It's Easter again, Dear Lord Jesus, and we come to church again. It's as if something deep within us stirs us, calls us to return to a journey. We are not always certain what that journey is or where the destination lies. But the seasons change, the light lengthens, the rue anemone breaks through the dark, winter-hardened ground, and something within us breaks out of our life-hardened spirits and reaches for light, for warmth. We reach, not knowing for certain that we will find it, for it seems that we were here last year answering the same primal urges. Is there no end to searching? I think I really hope that there is not, for if the search is in vain, then hope would diminish, maybe die forever, and I really want to keep coming here every Easter. I need that Easter hope. I need it as the flowers need the sun, as one newborn needs to draw breath. I need you to be here for me, and in some way I may never understand, reach out to me and let me know that you are still here, still alive and loving me even if I sometimes seem unlovable.

We bring gifts to you when we come on Easter. What we really want is a gift from you. Lord Jesus, just let us come here each year, as if it were the first time. Let us sing the old songs as if they were brand new. Let us see the living flowers, fresh and pure, as if we were. Welcome us to say out loud the ancient words -- "Risen! Indeed! -- as if we had just stumbled on a magnificent discovery. Let us live this Easter as if we were new, made whole, alive again. And if we are allowed this grace, Lord Jesus, we will feel that we have again shared in your victory, that you have given us that victory, and that we may carry the memory of that mercy into our lives. In your name, Risen Lord, in Your Name, Lord Jesus, we sing again the alleluias and feel reborn in your Easter morning light. Amen.