Next month John and I are going to Europe. I am surprised myself, even as I write this. Once upon a time I was adventurous but those tendencies have expired. Still I am stepping over my reluctance to immerse myself in countries and languages I am unfamiliar with, for the purpose of experiencing my daughters' world. They will help me navigate the translation glitches in French cafes, and cultural uncertainties traveling in Italy. 

Aurelle asked if I have anything in particular I would like to see. The Shroud of Turin came to mind. There are differing opinions about whether it is actually the fabric that wrapped the broken body of Jesus, but even the possibility captures me. 

The pastor who is readying the walk through for Easter morning church asked if I had a piece of fabric that might work to place in the tomb. I did. Linen has a particular way of draping. I could call it dignity, or presence. Not the breezy compliance of silk, nor the thick luxury of velvet. But I like that it has long been used for tablecloths and napkins, in those shared meals that bring families to one table. 

Jesus ate with his disciples a few days before Easter. He knew the fiasco that awaited him, and the resolution that lay beyond it. Yet even with that promise, Jesus admitted to a whisper of reluctance. What drew Him across the fear, was devotion to those children He came to break bread with. 

Some of us are reluctant to step into the afterlife, a time and place that is unknown. Yet the real poignancy of the resurrection is to assure us that we will be wrapped in love, and there are angels to show us the way.