It was on a Sunday long ago much like this one that my life began. To me Sunday will always be the first day of the week.
Life came back into Jesus' body on a Sunday. He folded His grave clothes neatly and began His day on a Sunday. The work was finished yet here was a new day to live in. Mary would be looking for Him. The disciples huddled afraid in the room they had supper in just a few nights before. There was much to do even though it was finished.
I wonder if He held unto the secret for a moment and relished the knowledge of it. Did He say, 'I'm alive' looking at His hands and seeing the scars. No other humans knew it yet... just angels. Or did He get right on with His life that had no beginning and no end. Either way people would begin to know that first Sunday.
His life is my life now. Today is not the end. It is the beginning.
He is alive and now because of that I am alive. Who can I tell this week?