In an hour, I will be at a rehearsal. I will be running a light board for a drama in Easter services at our church.
I will spend most of the morning around the edges, answering questions, smoothing feathers, smiling.
I will listen to our senior pastor, my friend Bill, speak. I will cheer for him as he speaks words tested in the challenges of a funeral for a 24 year old yesterday, in the challenges of moving his own mother into long-term health care the week before. He comes to his messages not lightly.
I will listen to our musicians express joy through tears, many knowing the young man from yesterday, or his mother or his dad. They sang at the funeral, many of them, with hope that today means something, that it matters.
And I will walk around the edges, with my own quiet joy.
I remembered this morning that the celebration today is for One who on Thursday night was mistaken for a household servant, who on Friday was mistaken for a criminal, and on Sunday morning was mistaken for the gardener.
I can delight in, I can be humbled by, this Jesus who, though often in front, was also at times in roles so unobtrusive that I almost forget he was there all along.
And now, I have less than an hour.