I admit, I am a bit remiss in commemorating the most important day in history on this old blog of mine. But I hope you all can forgive me.
After all, that’s kind of the point of Easter. Forgiveness. And with it, unimaginable joy. The single astonishing fact that everything changes. Everything. We become unrecognizably (Luke 24:15-16) new in that forgiveness, since we share in the life of Him who rose.
It’s impossible to over-emphasize how important the Resurrection is. It is the very essence of Christianity, its core. And it is the most unimaginable thing. Impossible even. Except, nothing is impossible for God.
Some people say these are dark days for Christianity. And in some ways, maybe they are. Much time is spent defending the Faith. I admire such efforts, but the formal apologist in me, perhaps from naïveté, perhaps not, is already weary. The poet in me wonders…
There are plenty of good arguments for God’s existence. There’s even one good one for His nonexistence. We can debate it all day. We can argue Biblical literalism until the cows come home. We can pit faith against reason (though admittedly that’s a downright stupid debate) for years. Do we ever get anywhere? Maybe? Or In the end, do we all end up believing what we want to believe?
It tires me sometimes. I want to lock myself in the Upper Room and let Him wash my feet. I long for the grace to die to myself, leaving everything with Him on the cross. I want to run away, to fly, borne on His wings, to home, to heaven. But there is work to be done. Is it the work of aligning words into armies? I never was a warrior… Shall I try harder? Or try to live, to love so splendidly by His grace that my life becomes my weapon, a weapon of non-destruction, a contradiction and an oxymoron? A weapon of self-sacrifice?
You can call me a hopeless romantic, sacrificing my intellect and potential, a slave to my emotion. But as I gaze at the Paschal fire, I am filled with a sudden childlike wonder that surpasses mere happenstance. Moments such as that enshrine a strangely sacred and primal recognition of a startling reality, something more than mere emotion.
Peace. Oh, peace somehow. That all might know Him. Until then they will wonder why we laughter at the cold, cruel night. But we will laugh. And we will cry. And our shouts will become the intersections, science and religion, faith and reason, atheist and theist, real and yet beyond real, Body and Blood, brother and sister, all, all one in His love. For He lives, undeniably, not as a memory, but literally. And He’s calling,