Easter and the day after that.
Cascarones and dusty pink palettes. An excuse to wear a dress, and an empty tomb. Easter comes every year, and every same year, the story about Jesus’ death and resurrection is told and told and retold, and people come to know Christ, and “He is Risen” will find itself on each small town corner sign. There will be talk of a last supper and of a crucifixion that happened over 2,000 years ago and about three-days-later. We’ll worship and eat a late family lunch, paying tribute to the Man who bought with blood the price of our sins, and then the very next morning...it won’t be Easter anymore.
I attended a hippie church in Portland on Palm Sunday, and the punk-rock pastor talked about The Jesus Story. He spoke about pain and about the inevitability of death. And that no matter how much we do or don’t do – avoiding our futures or putting all of our stake into eternity – it’s still only now, the present and living tense, and we are all only dust.
The bad news: ^ that. That’s upsetting.
But the good news: Imagine the course of your life as a patchwork design that’s been woven together by your individual daydreams, by your passions and the things that keep you up at night, by every quirk that makes us uniquely and intimately human. Your life alone is an intricate and vital part of a larger piece, which will come to display the creativity of an artist who makes every story count towards His.
So what about 2,000 years ago and the day after Easter? The sacrifice then was a clear illustration of what was already promised. Jesus isn’t waiting for us to die. His “will” isn’t death – it’s resurrection and life here on earth as it is in Heaven. You and I, we are necessary to the ongoing work of a crucified King’s creation, and that’s why the day after Easter matters.
You and I, we’ve got some living to do, so let’s recognize our dust and celebrate the cross and be people who wake up running.
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