Resurrection

It’s 6:23am as I write this, and I am awake far earlier than I would have chosen to be on Easter morning. The soft pelting rain outside reminds me of my childhood home; a unique and custom built home, it had a sloping, gray metal roof that produced a distinct vibration whenever a storm would blow through. Rain has this way of appearing as a blanket that covers all that it touches. It is fluid, yet appears as this covering over all that you can see. As a kid I would lay in bed, semi-conscious and only partially aware of my surroundings, letting the soft noise of the rain on that metal roof soothe me into a state of peace. This rain that used to comfort me as a kid only produces anxiety for my aging dog, so here I am: awake at 6:23am. 

This Easter morning doesn’t feel like other Easter mornings. If I’m honest, I wasn’t prepared for it; Holy Week snuck up on me and I felt a wave of guilt this week as I pondered the last few weeks of being stuck inside in quarantine. In some ways, this sort of forced isolation should have given me more time and focus to prepare my heart for celebrating Easter. Is there a more fitting time for hope of resurrection than a pandemic? As the death toll and the number of cases climb all around us, there is a sense of anxiety and dread that is filling the world. Will I get sick? Will someone I know die? What if I lose my job? How will I make ends meet? So many poignant questions are being thrown around as fear and anxiety penetrate the air. Is this how things will be forever?

So we sit here, hoping for some light to break through the mist. Unclear of when we can return to our jobs, see our friends again, go back to “normal.” A growing sense that we really never will return to whatever normal we used to subscribe to. Too much has changed and we will surely feel the impact of this for some time. Yet as we sit in this moment, wondering on this Easter morning what hope there is, we find ourselves in good company. The followers of Jesus left in the wake of the crucifixion must have felt similarly about their own situation. So many had left jobs, forsaken family, risked their lives to follow this Jewish rabbi who claimed to be the Son of God, and now he was gone. How could they go back to normal? Nothing could be the same, and yet all that they had to hold onto was the glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe Jesus would do what he said he would do. Yet, there he lay in the tomb, and hope remained a dimly lit candle in the middle of darkness.

I often feel as though I am sitting in a dark room, staring at the light of a dimly lit candle. The image of this blanket of rain covering the earth feels more like reality to me many days. Resurrection is such a wild, revolutionary idea that has been such a source of controversy and debate throughout history. It is completely difficult to wrap my head around, and yet it is the compelling hope that drives everything. I grew up believing some notion that salvation was about leaving this messed up earth someday to live eternity in the clouds. Despite this simply being entirely counter to what the Bible teaches about eternity, it also limited my ability to understand the hope that was found in resurrection. Because Jesus was raised from the dead, that means that we too will be raised from the dead. The death and decay that marks the earth we live on will be remade and restored. The impacts of COVID-19 will not simply be left behind and forgotten; they will be undone. Every disease healed, every tear wiped, every sad thing made untrue. This is the hope of resurrection. Jesus really is alive, and so we will be alive with him. The brokenness we see around us will be restored. The pain and suffering that we see is temporary and healing is on the way. This is the tension that we sit in today on Easter morning. As I see the night turn to day out my window, the clouds look impending. Yet, clouds are but a thin veil over what is coming. Light is breaking through, and resurrection is here.