Sun Comes Up, It's Tuesday Morning

There's an on-going "dispute" among the members of the GSPC praise band about the relative merits of a certain song called Every Morning Is Easter Morning.  Apparently, at some point in the history of this group, this song was sung a little bit too much, and it's one of those songs that can get overexposed quick, fast and in a hurry.  Some people love it, some people sort of cringe when you mention the title, my predecessor banned it, due to overexposure.
It's an understandable restriction.  Despite the theological truth of the song, it is not exactly Amazing Grace.
Easter this year was quite an event, in our house, not only did we have the normal demands of my role in the Church's celebration, we had family visiting from as far away as Wisconsin.  We had seven adults and six children hanging out at our house, and it was a pretty good time, but it didn't exactly leave me a lot of time for solemn reflection on the silence of the tomb.
But we survived, and Jesus is risen, and it's Tuesday morning.  In the modern rhythms of life Tuesday morning can be a sort of symbol of the ordinary.  It's not loathed like Monday or celebrated like Friday, it's not hump day or thirsty Thursday, if you still listen to the radio it might be double-shot Tuesday, but who really cares?
Tuesday is nothing special, but it's still a day for living the resurrection, in fact it may be the best day for living the resurrection.  Why? Well because the resurrection means more than just a special occurrence.  Like the song says, "every morning is Easter morning."  We live in the reality of the resurrection and that should change things rather radically.  Resurrection means death does not get the last word, and that should certainly change the way we live.
There is far too much "human nature" that is founded on the fear of mortality.  We grasp power and engage in futile hedonism because life is too short.  We neglect God and others because we just don't have time.  But what if we shift our thinking towards the infinite?  What if, it's not just "out brief candle?"
What if there's more?
And not just a vague disembodied more, but a more that shares deeply and significantly with the now.  What if your scars and your brokenness and all your Tuesday mornings go with you?
What if all the songs you sing and the relationships you build matter?  What if profound melodies, boppy, borderline annoying tunes and obscure Cowboy Junkies songs all somehow get woven into a chorus of holy music?
What if it all matters?
Not just Sunday.