When I was little, I remember waking up one Saturday morning and – before I was even fully awake – knowing what I would find downstairs. I knew that I’d descend the staircase to find a beam of sun coming through the glass front door and warming a patch of the wood floor. I knew that my mom would be dusting, and that Simon and Garfunkel would be playing on the stereo. I can’t recall whether this was a one-time occurrence or a frequent happening, but that Saturday morning experience lives deep within me, vividly illuminated by all of my senses. I still struggle to make sense of it – how could I, still groggy with sleep, be certain about what I’d find upon rising? How can we be certain about things we haven’t ever seen, like the sense that it soon will rain without looking at the weather forecast, or the instant familiarity we have with a place we’ve never visited or a person we’ve never met.
For me, these are reminders of the Resurrection, little signs of the Holy Spirit creeping into our lives in ways big and small. They are the feelings of unexplained warmth that spread over us at random times. They are the unexpected tears that well up during the hymn refrain. They are the flutters you feel in your soul when you are in deep, connected conversation.
By this point in Lent, I think that most of us are in a post-sleep fog. Cold season has overcome us; our Lenten fasts have left us cranky; Spring teases us with her fickle nature. We’re ready for Easter, ready for new life. And like my certainty of that Saturday morning sunbeam, somehow we know that something wonderful is awaiting us when we fully awake. Let us remain in Lent a while longer, filled with the clear and joyful knowledge that Resurrection is nearly upon us.