Even though I have known you, I often miss you after Easter, Lord.
I am on the Road to Emmaus. I walk with you, talk with you. I hear great truth. I listen to how the entire narrative fits together. I hear sermons. I read books. My knowledge grows and grows among the faithful until I know more about you than ever before. But I fail to notice that you are walking with me, that you have been not only trying to teach me but to have a relationship with me. I miss you after Easter, Lord.
I am Mary Magdelene. I am on the way to do my duty, and I see only a gardener. I barely look in his eyes, and I didn’t even look at his face because he’s clearly a worker. He is bent over, laboring at something. There are lawns to be mowed, hotel rooms to be cleaned, crops to be picked, or trash to be hauled. The gardener is likely just an immigrant, I think, maybe even undocumented. My status is above his. I ignore him. I miss you after Easter, Lord…
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