Easter Paradox?

He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed. (Is 53.3-5)

And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him. (Col 2.13-15)

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you… (1 Pet 1.3-4)

I arose early on Easter morning, planning to take part in a friend’s sunrise service tradition. I arrived at her house at 5:30am and we all piled into a taxi—me, three “nieces” and her—to be at Peach Blossom Park before the sun peeked its rays above the horizon. We read the Easter story and soaked in the sweet scent of new flowers and morning air, thoroughly enjoying starting the day focusing on the Risen One. We waited. The pink sky finally gave way to the golden ball and lifted it up and up as it sent its bright beams through the trees and onto the blossoms like fingers of light. We sang worship songs and praised our Lord who is ALIVE!

Later, our “extended family” gathered for fellowship, a time of remembering Jesus’ payment and exuberantly celebrating His resurrection. We sang and danced (I did anyway, very thankful to have a toddler in my arms to take away my inhibitions J).

“O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. (1 Cor 15.55-57)

“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!” (Rev 5.12)

 

We toasted our communion cups, “To the King and to His Kingdom!” in celebration of our risen King of Kings whose kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and whose dominion endures throughout all generations.

It was a wonderful day!

And then there was Monday…. Monday came crashing into the resurrection celebration, bringing its stark, poignant reminders that all is not yet right in the world. I left my house and started walking to the bus stop. The sky was blue (a small miracle in this typically gray-pollution-sky place), the golden morning sun shining brightly, the breeze warm, an invitation to smile from the inside out, close my eyes and take it all in. It was the promise of a perfect day. Until I looked down. Ashes. Black, flaky, weightless ashes swirling around my feet on that promising warm breeze, threatening to cast a dark shadow over the perfect day. These are the ashes of death and pain and hopelessness, leftover from the previous day’s funeral or a late night ritual of burning paper money for relatives in need of provisions in the afterlife.

Then, an e-mail bringing news of the tragic death of a long-time friend of the family. More news of the lingering cough and increasing frailty of Grandpa followed. A call came that the father of a friend’s co-worker (for whom my small group has been praying for weeks) has just lost his long, painful battle with cancer. A few of us boarded the light rail to take flowers and comfort and Light to the family left behind. Then, an evening of prayer walking, asking for freedom and hope for women trapped in darkness.

We still feel the sting of death. We still see the pain of sin and experience small battles won by the enemy.

It reminds me of a Tim Keller sermon I listened to last year, reflecting on the account of Jacob and the daughters of Laban. Jacob worked hard for seven long years to win his beautiful Rachel. “And in the morning, there was Leah.” Maybe I feel a bit like Jacob, expecting the climactic beauty and fulfillment of the resurrection to be there the next morning. Yet, I awoke to a death-filled Monday instead. Betrayed? No, but certainly confused. I was somber and tired, with possibly a touch of hopelessness. The “not yet” of Jesus’ reign was overwhelming.

But, I must—we must—choose to worship, choose to walk in Jesus’ victory that I know is mine. I must choose to trust in God, whose Word is true and who never changes, whose Plan it is to use me to effect His victory in the hearts, the community, the land around me. With my eyes focused on that which is promised, I am to be His Light in today’s darkness, Life in today’s death, Peace in today’s chaos, Joy and Hope in today’s pain. I am called to re-present Jesus, to release Him, to distribute His blessing (like loaves and fishes) to those that are hungry, to enforce Jesus’ victory and redemption, to mediate for those who have no idea they are enslaved. I choose to push through the weight of “not yet” and cling to who I know God is.

 

Then there was Tuesday…. I awoke to a sky that felt as dreary and gray as my heart, a sky so low it was as if all the building tops were touching it. I rode the bus through the dreariness to the office to set up for my play group. I usually love to look out the window and take in the wide, 14^th floor view of the community. Today, I looked out to see yet another household walking through loss. The tell-tale white linen belts and hats speckled the dark pavement as they made arrangements. More pain. More brokenness. More death. And it does sting.

No one came to play group today and I was thankful for the break, thankful for the time to reflect and write.

The rain came. It was a light, no-real-need-for-an-umbrella kind of rain, but steady through the morning hours. It sprinkled down from the low sky like mercy and grace come down to earth to meet us right in the middle of our day-to-day. Or maybe they are tears from a loving Father, El Roi, who sees the pain and death and brokenness and grieves with us in the not yet. 

Interesting about the rain, though, the longer it fell, the brighter everything became. It was washing the dry winter’s dust off each leaf and branch and blade. It was restoring to original vividness, cleansing from that which had settled and layered on.

I had grown accustomed to the dust, the grayness left in the wake of desert winds. The dust became “normal” to me, part of the expected scenery. Subtly and slowly settling on everything exposed to air, little by little fading colors and dimming the surroundings. I had occasionally rolled my eyes and groaned at the dust, but mostly had just written it off as a part of life here that I just have to deal with.

How often do I do that, too, with the dust of life? The brokenness, shame, bondage, fear, struggle, hopelessness? How often do they subtly, layer by layer become part of the scenery as I let them do their dulling work, accepting them as my portion, as the portion for others? How often, when circumstances are looming gray and low, do I forget about the Grace and Mercy available? He IS making ALL things new!

 Come, let us return to the Lord; for he has torn us, that he may heal us; he has struck us down, and he will bind us up. After two days he will revive us; on the third day he will raise us up, that we may live before him. Let us know; let us press on to know the Lord; his going out is sure as the dawn; he will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains that water the earth. (Hos 6.1-3)