We sat on metal, plastic, canvas, wood -- whatever could be gathered in close quarters before dawn this morning. The 40 or so of us - from new babies to great-grandparents - were surrounded by flats of flowers and rows of hanging baskets, their colors barely visible in the dark.
We started to sing. Then the roosters started to sing, and before our eyes the greenhouse lit up like someone had flipped the switch. We kept singing, about the One who flipped the switch, who rolled away the stone, who lives today and forever. We talked about how the darkness has not won, and will never win.
On the other side of the world, though, our brothers and sisters did not get to leave their gathering and go eat ham or baked beans or cake or relax with their families. They tried to gather and sing, and pray, and talk about the One whom we celebrate this day; they were arrested. Some are in various jails, others are in unknown locations.
I do not take for granted my freedom to gather and proclaim the name of Jesus Christ, and I will not forget those who are without that freedom.