Our annual church Egg Hunt was this morning and, at the event, a boy looked at me with big, chocolate eyes and said, "You guys have church tomorrow?" I enthusiastically replied, "Yeah, we do. It's at 10:00!" His eyes darted down to examine the harvest of candy he'd just hunted and gathered. "That's sad that you have to go to church on Easter."
I exhaled an inner sigh.
"I don't think it's sad at all," I answered. "Jesus is the whole reason for Easter." He quieted for a moment as if pondering this statement. Then, he grabbed a particularly good piece of candy, jumped up and yelled, "MOM! Look what I got."
In this culture, this one that blurs springtime and bunnies with resurrection, it's easy to see how a child raised without Christ would be confused. What I wanted to do was take that child and lead him to a quiet place. I wanted to open the Word and show him.
He was beaten.
He was bloodied.
He was tortured.
He was mocked.
He was killed.
He was hauled down off the cross and buried before nightfall so that those who'd called for His murder could adhere to the laws of the Sabbath.
And then He CAME BACK TO LIFE.
It is not a sad thing that I will be at church tomorrow. Neither is it something that I have to do. It is, simply, that all that I am hinges on the resurrection. Everything I believe is rubbish without a risen Savior.
Hell has no victory. Its power is crushed by the heel of my Lord.
He is risen...
He is risen, indeed.