An Easter Reflection

Easter is such a fabulous time of celebration for believers, and there's nothing like a good Easter service at church to make you want to jump for joy. It is, hands down, my favorite church service of the entire year. Don't get me wrong, I love the pageantry and drama of Christmas, but the joy and wonder of the resurrection simply can't be topped.

This morning in church, we sang songs of Jesus' life and death, his burial and his resurrection. The place seemed to be vibrating with the glory of our risen Savior. We have so much to celebrate, and believe me, there was some celebration going on.

On Friday, I mentioned that it was in his death that we see Jesus' humanity most fully, but it is in the resurrection that we see his divinity most clearly. Only God could raise himself up from the dead. He is worthy of all honor, glory, and praise, and I pray that you had a chance to worship Him this morning.

As I have spent the weekend reflecting on the events of Easter, these words from Frederick Buechner seem particularly fitting.

"The symbol of Easter is the empty tomb. You can't depict or domesticate emptiness. You can't make it into pageants and string it with lights. It doesn't move people to give presents to each other or sing old songs. It ebbs and flows all around us, the Eastertide. Even the great choruses of Handel's Messiah sound a little like a handful of crickets chirping under the moon.

He rose. A few saw him briefly and talked to him. If it is true, there is nothing left to say. If it is not true, there is nothing left to say. For believers and unbelievers both, life has never been the same again. For some, neither has death. What is left now is the emptiness. There are those who, like Magdalen, will never stop searching it till they find his face."

Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark: A Doubter's Dictionary

May you never stop searching the emptiness.

Until next time, grace and peace.

What's so Good about Good Friday?

(photo credit eclatdusoleil)

It's a contradiction, really, to speak of Good Friday as good. It is, after all, the day that Jesus died, and we don't generally think of death as a good thing. When's the last time you heard someone jumping for joy after a loved one died? Probably never. When someone dies, our first thoughts aren't usually, "Good! I'm so glad!"

Sometimes I think we Christians brush over Jesus' death. When it comes to Easter, we sing songs about the resurrection and proclaim gladly, "Up from the Grave He Arose!" because that's what happened. That's the end of the story. But in order for the resurrection to be possible, the death had to occur.

Jesus had to die.

And his death was real.

There's a story in Luke 24 about a couple of Jesus' followers. They were headed home from Jerusalem after witnessing the death of their beloved teacher, and as they walked, their grief was palpable. When a stranger on the road asked why they were so sad, they told him about Jesus, and they said, "We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel." Did you catch that? They said that they had hoped. Past tense. They weren't hoping anymore because when Jesus died, their hope died with him. I'm sure that the grief was unbearable. Their leader, the one that they had trusted in and hoped in and believed in had died. And they were left alone.

God died.

How is it possible that God could die? It goes against everything that we know to be true about him. He is the immortal, unchangeable, king of all creation, all-powerful, unchanging God. And yet, in the span of a few hours one Friday morning, he laid all of that aside and died.

It is, I think, in his death, that we see how human Jesus really was. God doesn't die. People do.

All of these things must have been swirling madly in the minds of the people who knew and loved Jesus. They would never walk or talk with him again. They wouldn't share another meal with him or settle in to hear one of his stories. Maybe they were angry. Maybe they felt betrayed. Maybe they thought that everything they had believed in was a lie.

I don't know everything they felt, but I know how it feels to lose someone you love. To be struck with the awful finality of their parting. To realize that you have hugged them for the last time. To say good-bye.

They had hoped that he would be their Savior.

For those three days between Friday and Sunday, they grieved. They cried. They mourned.

Because he was gone.

And he was gone because of their sin. Because of my sin. Because of your sin. His death was necessary to cancel out everything that is ugly and evil and wrong in this world. And that is exactly what he did. He canceled it all out. In that moment, finally, justice was served.

And that is why Good Friday is so good. Because on that day, God offered himself as the perfect sacrifice, the only sacrifice that would do. And it is by that sacrifice that we are healed. That we are purified. That we are able to draw near to God.

And that, sweet friends, is a good thing.

Until next time, grace and peace.

Held Together by the Cross

Saturday morning, I felt like a heathen. I've always been pretty conservative in the way that I dress. My most risque moments stem from being nearly six feet tall - it can be kind of difficult to find skirts and dresses of an appropriate length when you're this tall, you know. I'm hardly ever fashion-forward, and I live my life in a perpetual fear that Stacy and Clinton will accost me in the grocery store. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.

Anyway, that's all beside the point.

Saturday morning, I got dressed in a T-shirt and capri pants, hopped in the car, and headed off to practice for the community Easter service. It was at the Pentecostal church. When I walked in the door, I instantly felt conspicuous in my capri pants. I was surrounded by women in floor-length denim skirts with their looooong hair tucked into buns on the back of their heads.

We, clearly, were very different.

But we were also the same. We were there to worship together and prepare for a community gathering of all the Christians in our area. Twice a year, we lay aside our differences and come together in celebration. The pastors from all the churches each share a short message. The choirs mingle together, and we stand on the common ground of faith that we share.

Yesterday afternoon, we gathered together and collectively turned our hearts toward the cross. It was Palm Sunday, and we heard about the hope, and joy, and grace, and new life, and forgiveness, and peace that comes from the cross. I daresay we all had our uncomfortable moments, but we spend so much time talking about our differences that it's nice to lay them aside at least for a little while. It's one of the things I miss most about my days at Beeson.

I love the fact that at the community services, a woman preaches from IBC's pulpit. I love the fact that the Pentecostal preacher makes the less lively of us squirm in our seats. I love the fact that we're in it together, differences and all. It's such a beautiful picture of what heaven will be like. Sometimes it's good to be uncomfortable. We're all different, but the cross is strong enough to bind us together.

On this Holy Week Monday, I hope that your heart is turning toward the cross. That your mind is stayed on the One who gave up everything for us. And that you're clinging to the hope that sprang to life with His resurrection.

Until next time, grace and peace.