God who rose,
Resurrect us.
We’ve belonged to communities, workplaces, and spiritual spaces that have demanded our death far more than they ever advocated for our life. They ask us to “die to self,” the ambiguity of the command like grabbing a knife by its blade.
No longer will we mirror the hand of the neglected that the world uses daily.
Let joy find us today.
Remind us that any spirituality which is always death, never resurrection, is a farce.
What liberation we taste today, many we crave in full as we refuse to wander back to the chains that once held us.
May joy find us.
Not a joy absent of story of sorrow, but a joy whose allegiance is to memory. A joy that is not quick to forget the agony of Good Friday or dismiss the doubt of Silent Saturday.
May we remember and rise to meet hope, nonetheless, knowing our liberation is whispering up at us from its empty grave. Amen
*Black Liturgies by Cole Arthur Riley