Find a comfortable position,
Maybe that's laying down or sitting,
And just allow your body to settle into stillness.
Let your hands rest loosely,
Maybe on your lap,
And unclench your jaw and maybe lower your shoulders.
If it feels right,
You may close your eyes or just soften your gaze.
Now take a slow breath in through your nose and gently release it through your mouth.
And do that a couple of times.
Let your breath guide you home to yourself.
Let it remind you that you are here,
Not as a preacher,
Or teacher,
Or planner,
Or leader,
But as a beloved child of God.
You have given much.
You have poured out words,
Prayers,
Presence,
Creativity,
Care.
Now let yourself receive.
There is nothing to hold together in this moment.
Let the spirit hold you.
Easter has come.
The alleluias have been sung.
The lilies arranged.
The people greeted.
The bread broken.
And now you are here.
Call to mind the days that just passed.
From Palm Sunday's procession to Maundy Thursday's vulnerability.
From the silence of Good Friday to the vigil and the joy of Resurrection Morning.
A lot can happen in a week.
Let these memories rise like gentle waves.
As each day passes before your heart's eye,
Notice where you encountered the sacred.
A moment of connection.
A song that moved something deep within you.
A pause that held holiness.
Where were you close to God?
Now with the same gentle curiosity,
Ask where did I feel far away?
Where was I tired?
Disconnected?
Stretched too thin?
You are not here to judge these moments,
Only to notice them.
To offer them your breath.
And to hold them in grace.
Now in the quiet of this present moment,
Ask yourself gently,
What does resurrection mean to me right now?
Not what you preached or taught.
Not what the liturgy said.
But what your soul whispers.
What within you longs to rise?
What has been buried and is quietly stirring?
You do not need to name it out loud.
Just let it hover in your awareness.
Let it be enough to notice.
The work of resurrection is not always dramatic.
Sometimes it's quiet.
Unseen.
Tender.
You are not required to rise on command.
Resurrection will find you.
The ministry continues.
The needs will return.
Emails.
Calls.
Meetings.
Grief.
Joy.
People.
But in this moment,
Release it all.
You are not the savior.
You are a vessel of grace.
Let yourself release the pressure.
The perfectionism.
The disappointment.
The fear that it wasn't enough.
The guilt that you did not feel as spiritually connected as you had hoped.
Let it fall away.
Like leaves released to the wind.
What does true rest look like for you?
Not just time off,
But restoration.
What spaces,
People,
Or practices help you remember who you are?
What helps you return not to your role,
But to your soul?
Imagine God meeting you now.
Not in the sanctuary,
But in the quiet garden of your heart.
Calling your name as Christ did Mary's.
Not with urgency,
But with deep knowing.
Let yourself be seen.
Let yourself be found.
Let yourself be loved.
Begin to bring your awareness gently back to your body.
Maybe wiggle your fingers or your toes.
Take a final deep breath in,
And exhale slowly.
As you rise from this time of pause,
May you go not with pressure,
But with deep peace.
May the risen Christ accompany you into rest.
May you trust that resurrection continues,
Even when you are still.
May your rest not be earned,
But received.
You are loved.
You are held.
You are loved.
You are enough.
Go gently.
Go spaciously.
You are a part of the unfolding of new life.
Amen.
