"He is Risen!"
An Easter Sermon by Rev. Linda Roberts-Baca As many of you know, when I was 7-years-old my 5-year-old brother died. I still remember the night my sister and I came home, after being at our grandparent’s house, to find his little bed made, with its red corduroy bedspread tucked neatly around the corners, and his pillow, untouched, underneath. When we saw that little bed made at night and my brother not sleeping soundly in it, my sister and I both knew what our mother did not want to tell us: our brother was gone, and whatever that meant, we knew enough to know we would never see him, at least, not on this earth, in this life, again. I thought about that whole episode a few weeks ago, when I found myself standing at my brother’s grave. It was a cold day and the sky was overcast and there was no one at the cemetery but me. Someone had dropped a little purple iris from a bouquet from some other flowers, from another funeral, on the ground. I picked it up and put it in the little