Everyone in their Sunday best. Easter is when most people put a bit more thought into what they are wearing. But across the aisle he had grease around his nails. His shirt was neatly ironed… his pants perfectly pressed. His nails brought tears to my eyes and I could barely look away.
What if we all couldn’t wash off what we had done all week?
What if we could see it on each other?
Would we still show up?
What if we only worshiped He who saw our sin and mess then died in our place… and not the One who rose and conquered the hungry mouth of death and washed us clean?
Clean so we could come to Him?
Clean… so that nothing could stand in the way?
I couldn’t stop staring….only looking away to wonder what we would all be wearing?
What would I be wearing?
The grease around his nails was beautiful. It was beautiful to me. It sounds crazy even writing it.
The grease it screamed “of honesty, transparency, vulnerability and this is who I am …who I have been all week long….and no matter all that , I knew I could come here.”