Stars twinkled in the sky. Cars pulled into the parking lot. Headlights sent beams out over the ocean, competing with the circling light of the towering lighthouse behind us. Children yawned as their parents lifted them from safety seats. A light breeze chilled the congregation gathering on the rocks of Peggy’s Cove, Nova Scotia. People shivered beneath heavy coats, which did little to block the pre-dawn cold. Our pastor climbed to the highest rock. We waited patiently for her to speak. The sky grew light in the east. The ocean turned pink, reflecting dawn’s birth. “Every day the sun sets,” she began. “Every morning it rises again. We’re disappointed to see it leave us each evening, but we’re not sad. We have faith in our sun. We know it will rise again, just as our savior did long ago.” She spoke for many minutes, touching our hearts and souls with her words of faith and love. The sky grew brighter. The choir assembled on the cliffs and led us in song. The last words echoed over of the ocean.
The sun appeared over the horizon.
It was Easter morning.
The Son had risen.
