Who Are We to Bet Against Glory?

Over a rocky ridge, the sun comes up in a golden blaze.

Spirit of Hope, settle into our bones on this Easter morning.
Remind us once again that the dawn light is never a gamble;
If there ever was a sure bet, it is the sunrise.
Even stones crumble
even grief changes and shifts
and death is a mystery that is certain but not solid;
But hope is like the sunrise
eternal and bone-bred within us.
We are creatures built by sunshine
and cannot carve this hope out of our bones if we tried.
And yet people have tried,
tried to entomb the light,
tried to seal off the morning.
Emperors and kings, priests and patriarchs
have brought down death, certain but not solid,
on any who point to a new dawn.
In these fearful moments,
we can be forgiven if we stumble
and doubt and deny.
But still the sun rises and calls her children into bloom
Always, she says,
Always I will return.
So don’t despair, all is not lost,
the small ways of the petty tyrants never win.
So place your money on the sunrise.
Who are we to bet against glory?