A rumbling in the pre-dawn darkness - a shaking of the earth - soldiers' courage shatter and they fall down as if dead - the crackling, scraping and crunching as a huge stone is carelessly tossed aside as little more than a minor inconvenience - the burial clothes lying hollow and empty as death itself - and the light . . . the blinding light of an angel's garments that shine like lightning . . . Easter has come.
The creation story was good . . . Moses and the Red Sea, well, my goodness . . . Christmas morning was a morning like no other . . . then Good Friday . . .
Curiously, unlike Christmas morning, there are no choirs of angels on Easter . . . I like to think it is because even they were struck dumb with wonder . . . some covering their gaping mouths in astonishment . . . while others hid their faces in their hands - crying tears for the sheer terrifying beauty of it all.
But this Easter morn my thoughts are not only of that day of days so long ago but of the many resurrections we see all around us as we journey through this life . . . relationships forever broken only to be healed once more . . . those who battle addictions who finally break the chains . . . those mired in their own despair who yet choose to get up and greet the dawn . . .
Those huddled around their pitifully small flickering flame of hope - guarding it with their last ounce of strength against all of life's storms even after all others have given up . . .
When scientists say it is not possible and philosophers say it is not logical . . . When family says hope is gone and friends say the damage is beyond repair . . . when counselors say it is not reasonable and the doctors say it is terminal . . . When all the world shakes it's finger, wags it's head and pronounces . . . Death . . .
God replies, "Death? What do you think you know about death . . .?"
Then slowly, quietly, and oh, so gently, he kneels down next to us in the cold darkness of our tomb, cups his hands around ours so desperate to keep that small flame of hope alive and says, "Would you mind if I warm myself by your fire . . .?"
We become that small boy with the loaves and fishes . . . the widow with her last penny . . . the disciple who cries out "help my unbelief" . . .
And after kneeling quietly in the darkness with us for a time . . . the God of the universe stands, stretches and says "Thank you for sharing with me what you have . . . now may I share myself with you . . .?"
and bushes blaze . . .
waters part . . .
lightening cracks across our doubtful sky . . .
But this Easter morn my thoughts are not only of that day of days so long ago but of the many resurrections we see all around us as we journey through this life . . . relationships forever broken only to be healed once more . . . those who battle addictions who finally break the chains . . . those mired in their own despair who yet choose to get up and greet the dawn . . .
Those huddled around their pitifully small flickering flame of hope - guarding it with their last ounce of strength against all of life's storms even after all others have given up . . .
When scientists say it is not possible and philosophers say it is not logical . . . When family says hope is gone and friends say the damage is beyond repair . . . when counselors say it is not reasonable and the doctors say it is terminal . . . When all the world shakes it's finger, wags it's head and pronounces . . . Death . . .
God replies, "Death? What do you think you know about death . . .?"
Then slowly, quietly, and oh, so gently, he kneels down next to us in the cold darkness of our tomb, cups his hands around ours so desperate to keep that small flame of hope alive and says, "Would you mind if I warm myself by your fire . . .?"
We become that small boy with the loaves and fishes . . . the widow with her last penny . . . the disciple who cries out "help my unbelief" . . .
And after kneeling quietly in the darkness with us for a time . . . the God of the universe stands, stretches and says "Thank you for sharing with me what you have . . . now may I share myself with you . . .?"
and bushes blaze . . .
waters part . . .
lightening cracks across our doubtful sky . . .
and the very stones that sealed our fate begin to roll away . . .
that which we were told was hopeless and impossible suddenly becomes the new reality . . .
that which we were told was hopeless and impossible suddenly becomes the new reality . . .
the deaf begin to hear . . .
the blind begin to see . . .
the lame pick up their mats and walk . . .
From all corners of the earth people cry "not possible!" . . . "not logical!" . . . "hope is gone!" . . . "the damage is beyond repair!" . . . "not reasonable!" . . . "it is terminal!" . . . with one chorus the world cries "DEATH!"
It is then that God stands to his full height . . . stretches his arms wide as he once did just three days ago . . . shakes his wild hair and beard, throws his head back and laughs . . . a hearty . . .bellowing . . . heart-full laugh . . . and roars a reply that reverberates through all of his creation . . . "DEATH?! What do you think you know about death . . .?"
No, this year of all years, this resurrection morn is not golden trumpets and angels clothed in lightening . . . no . . . for me . . . this Easter morn looks more like this . . . .
Who knows? Maybe the silence of that first Easter morn was not broken with a shattering of shield and a quaking of souls so much as it was broken by a jangling of cheap beads . . a giggle . . . and then a chuckle . . . and then a laugh so pure that only one who had humbled his heart like that of a little child could utter it . . . and the women who heard it had to laugh in spite of themselves as their hearts swelled with the hope and joy of all creation . . .
Happy Easter.
1 comments:
Beautiful and inspirational.
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