Your feet hit the ground at the side of your bed. It’s Easter Monday and all the heart-soarings of Easter Sunday plummet to the Metaphorical Monday of life. The age-old in your life, the things you’ve been working through for years, surround you and try to suffocate the very life out of you. How does Resurrection Sunday shape our gritty, sometimes perpetual, Monday-filled lives? The day-in, day-out wrestlings? How does Resurrection Sunday help those we love in their pain and their wrestlings and the hurt we feel while watching them struggle for breath?
How does laying our sin at the cross of the God-With-Us Savior, help us in the Still-With-Us sin nature? This crazy, pain-filled world?
I know I don’t have any complete answers.
But don’t we cling to hope? And trust in His good promises? For if He loved us while still sinners and laid His life down for us while we were still writhing in our own filth, how much more must He hold us dear when He, Himself, has overlaid us and cleansed us with His blood?
And while the Marys did buy spices and perfumes for the final burial preparations for the Savior, the religious laws of the day and the approaching Sabbath didn’t allow them to actually caress his body with them. There was no beautifying His death. And no optimistic naiveté can gloss over this life’s grittiness.
We struggle for breath between life’s hard-pressed seasons. We groan with friends and family and try to hold their hands through their own loads. But it’s too much.
Too much for us.
But not for Him! No. Somehow He took it all upon Himself.
All that is ugly and twisted and deformed in this world . . . all that satan has in his contorted grip.
Jesus took it.
Straight to hell?
And that Sunday morning, when His lungs first breathed in that tomb’s rank and musty air,
all this world’s stench
was done for.
And nothing, nothing, can overpower the pleasing aroma of Christ and His redemptive work of Life.
A new Creation has begun its springing forth.
And while we still ache and plod through sin’s seeming hold on this planet . . .
in us . . .
He has redeemed us.
Made us new.
Death could not hold Him.
And because of that
It won’t hold us either.
No. For we have hope.
How great must be His love for us.
Continuing the learning, the choosing . . . the thanking….
#461 He came
#462 because He loved us
#463 the Hallelujah chorus
#464 Firefly singing, “Alleluia”
#465 His blood . . . nothing but it.
#466 no condemnation, no wrath for those who believe
#467 beautiful, warm days
#468 family – in all it’s hugeness 🙂
#469 an obliging doctor’s office
#471 Motrin and medicine droppers
#472 a compliment from a not-so-little-anymore, “little” brother
#473 coordinating Easter clothes – my children’s’ and my grandparents’ =D
#474 heavy starch and irons
#476 that I have the sweetest neighbor here on God’s green earth
#477 brown eyes
#478 that He will meet us, come to us . . . that He heard my murmured plea
#479 a nine-year-old uncle and all of his playfulness and wonder in the eyes of his three-year-old niece
#481 An Easter life. In all of its strenuous, very real wrestlings and its steadfast, clinging-heart hope.