Easter always seems to arrive at the height of
happiness. When the weather is warming
and blooms of all sizes color the earth in every direction. When another school year draws near its end and
celebrations become common. There is a
freshness to spring and the Easter season. It feels like a
rebirth of sorts . . . an awakening that reminds us we have another shot to get
this thing right, to make our lives sing, to find glory in a new beginning.
Some of us . . . we worry. It runs in our blood and when the blood runs cold, the anxiety chills us to the bone. All though the long, gray winter, we wait and we wonder and we worry . . .
Will hope return?
Will the gray skies lift and the chill subside?
Will we ever again sense the opportunity for resurrection?
Then, the sun begins to linger in the sky. The dogwoods erupt in white and the tulips stand bright and tall and happiness sparks in the air around us. And that hope we’ve been missing? It settles back in and inhabits us to our core, warming our skin and making our hearts swell with possibility.
We shop for new dresses and dye eggs. We buy jellybeans and set out wooden bunnies. We give up chocolate for Lent and we go to church with the grandparents and we sing about an empty grave. We talk about sacrifice and stare at the cross and the happiness is so real, so full and true we can hardly contain it.
Easter is full of happiness. It’s full of holiness. And yet, there is an ugliness to Easter that we can’t ignore. The ugly is part of the story, in fact. Holiness requires wholeness, and the whole story of Easter? It’s ugly.
The way they deserted him was ugly. The way they disowned him was ugly. The way they denied him, disregarding promises of loyalty to hand him over to death without a second thought. It was ugly. They tormented him and tortured him and treated him like a criminal. This perfect man, this man without sin? They made him out to be a common criminal. He was their creator, their teacher, the author of their lives, and they nailed him to a cross and watched him suffer and bleed and die.
IT WAS SO UGLY.
But that death on the cross? That bleeding and breaking and breathing his last while the earth trembled and the sun refused to shine? Oh, that utter darkness brought such light. It brought such beauty. It tore the veil completely, exposing His face as our Father and our faces as the ones of those He dearly loves. It cleansed our hearts of all shame and washed us as white as snow. It redeemed our souls forever.
If the story ended there, He would still be worthy of praise. This Jesus . . . he showed us how to live and how to love, and he suffered and died for our sins so that each of us could have a personal relationship with the Lord.
If the story ended there, we would still have an example. We would still have a teacher. We would still have a Savior.
But y’all . . .
HE LIVES!!!
Yes, he suffered and bled and died. Yes, he took on all of our sin. Yes, he sacrificed himself so that we could be free.
But that isn’t the end of the story.
Good Friday is awful and amazing, sorrowful and staggering, unbelievable and undeniable. But most importantly, IT IS NOT THE END OF THE STORY.
Jesus. Is. Alive.
He was dead and buried, wrapped in linen and spices, sealed in a tomb. And three days later, just as he said he would . . . just as so many who came before promised he would . . . our Jesus . . .
He pushed that stone aside and walked right out of that grave.
We serve a living God.
That is the hope of Easter, my friends. Any possibility for our own resurrection dims without the truth of His. Our faith must be grounded in the whole story, the holy story of Christ.
He died for our sins.
He died to save us.
He died.
But today, and forevermore,
He is risen.
Some of us . . . we worry. It runs in our blood and when the blood runs cold, the anxiety chills us to the bone. All though the long, gray winter, we wait and we wonder and we worry . . .
Will hope return?
Will the gray skies lift and the chill subside?
Will we ever again sense the opportunity for resurrection?
Then, the sun begins to linger in the sky. The dogwoods erupt in white and the tulips stand bright and tall and happiness sparks in the air around us. And that hope we’ve been missing? It settles back in and inhabits us to our core, warming our skin and making our hearts swell with possibility.
We shop for new dresses and dye eggs. We buy jellybeans and set out wooden bunnies. We give up chocolate for Lent and we go to church with the grandparents and we sing about an empty grave. We talk about sacrifice and stare at the cross and the happiness is so real, so full and true we can hardly contain it.
Easter is full of happiness. It’s full of holiness. And yet, there is an ugliness to Easter that we can’t ignore. The ugly is part of the story, in fact. Holiness requires wholeness, and the whole story of Easter? It’s ugly.
The way they deserted him was ugly. The way they disowned him was ugly. The way they denied him, disregarding promises of loyalty to hand him over to death without a second thought. It was ugly. They tormented him and tortured him and treated him like a criminal. This perfect man, this man without sin? They made him out to be a common criminal. He was their creator, their teacher, the author of their lives, and they nailed him to a cross and watched him suffer and bleed and die.
IT WAS SO UGLY.
But that death on the cross? That bleeding and breaking and breathing his last while the earth trembled and the sun refused to shine? Oh, that utter darkness brought such light. It brought such beauty. It tore the veil completely, exposing His face as our Father and our faces as the ones of those He dearly loves. It cleansed our hearts of all shame and washed us as white as snow. It redeemed our souls forever.
If the story ended there, He would still be worthy of praise. This Jesus . . . he showed us how to live and how to love, and he suffered and died for our sins so that each of us could have a personal relationship with the Lord.
If the story ended there, we would still have an example. We would still have a teacher. We would still have a Savior.
But y’all . . .
HE LIVES!!!
Yes, he suffered and bled and died. Yes, he took on all of our sin. Yes, he sacrificed himself so that we could be free.
But that isn’t the end of the story.
Good Friday is awful and amazing, sorrowful and staggering, unbelievable and undeniable. But most importantly, IT IS NOT THE END OF THE STORY.
Jesus. Is. Alive.
He was dead and buried, wrapped in linen and spices, sealed in a tomb. And three days later, just as he said he would . . . just as so many who came before promised he would . . . our Jesus . . .
He pushed that stone aside and walked right out of that grave.
We serve a living God.
That is the hope of Easter, my friends. Any possibility for our own resurrection dims without the truth of His. Our faith must be grounded in the whole story, the holy story of Christ.
He died for our sins.
He died to save us.
He died.
But today, and forevermore,
He is risen.
