Easter morning. I'm sitting in the dark, wondering if Jesus might have sat in the dark on his tomb slab Easter morning. Was he just thinking of being alive during those first arisen moments of life and the beginning of his last days on earth? His physical body was now different; he was physical but also resurrected, holier physically, unable to die any longer, he had faced death and defeated it. It must have felt good to be alive, physically again, a new body which would never again suffer, ache, pull a muscle, stub a toe, or scratch an eye. He was alive forevermore. I wondered if he smiled at himself for a job well done, imagining the look on his disciples' faces when they first see him, for the joy of a morning sunrise, of about to be stepping out onto the stage of the universe, victorious, risen, mission accomplished. Did he stand and stretch? No reason really. His muscles will forever be loose. “Boy, push back that stone!” he might have said to the angel, “It’s time to leave.”
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