Tomorrow

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. And I don’t know what you think of Easter–maybe you see it as another holiday with candy, or as a celebration of spring–but I hope that tomorrow you see the miraculous! Tomorrow, I get to play for my church, and I’m looking forward to seeing little girls in colorful dresses, and flowers, and I’m looking forward to hearing children sing. What I’m looking forward to the most, though, is hearing a single phrase.

“He is risen.”

I want to hear it over and over and over again tomorrow, and I want to respond “He is risen indeed!” Because it’s easy to forget the miraculous. It’s easy to think “Oh, well–everyone at church knows this–maybe it’ll be annoying for me to say it. What if I sound pretentious or fake? Won’t it be uncomfortable?”

Whoa. Listen to me–those thoughts are ridiculous. My thoughts are ridiculous. Why would I not repeat the truth that I ground my faith in–over and over and over again? Why not encourage others with the hope that we have? Why is it just Easter that I hear those words–that I say those words? My intention here is not to write something that will make anyone feel guilty–rather, I want to encourage you to talk about Jesus Christ’s resurrection tomorrow without fear.

I want to talk about Jesus’s resurrection tomorrow without fear. I want to celebrate the hope that we have in Christ, and the gift of grace that God has offered to everyone. Because we have so much to rejoice over tomorrow, and it’s a time to rejoice together, and speak the joy that is in our hearts.

Imagine, if you will, waking early early in the morning, when everything is still and quiet and the sun hasn’t quite come up yet. And you’re walking to a place of sadness, and despair–a tomb where they put the Savior of the world when they crucified him–and the hope that you had a few days before is gone. The scene has changed in a week, from a blue-skied, green palm-waving multitude, loudly and boisterously proclaiming Christ King, to a heavy, heavy day when crowds yelled for your Lord’s death, and He went with them.

You don’t understand, but you’ve had a whole day to do nothing but think, and remember, and now you’re walking to His tomb to honor His body, if you can get someone to roll away the stone. Only the stone is gone, and He is gone, and there are angels, and you still don’t understand, but you see the gardener and think to ask him. He calls your name–

And when you hear His voice, you do understand, at least a little. Enough to feel a wild surge of hope enter your heart again, and love, and joy!  That is what we’re celebrating tomorrow, and it’s as miraculous now as it was two thousand years ago.

He is risen, indeed.

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