It’s Easter Morning

It’s Easter morning, and I can sense a buzz.

It feels like excitement, relief, joyous celebration.

I don’t believe that the story of an empty tomb, of once-grieving, now-celebrating men and women must be confined in the chapters of the gospels. It should seep out of the pages and slowly permeate into our stories of our everyday brokenness and pain.

I’ve never suffered deep loss like Mary, a mother having to witness her son be torn apart. I have not witnessed my dear friend be ripped apart in front of me for a crime he did not commit, left to hang on a tree. I have not been persecuted for my beliefs (other than petty, harmless judgement).

It’s easy for the Easter story to escape me. It’s easy for the words “joy” and “hope” to be just nouns, instead of saving grace.

But, when I bring the story into my everyday, boring, and privileged life, I am newly invited into an upside down kingdom. One where broken marriages, sick babies, dying friends, struggling families and lost souls have something to look forward to. It’s a story that is powerful because it overcame a terrible Friday, one broken and hopeless as our lives.

The story, when it creeps out from the rustling pages of a bible, and finds context in our pain, it provides strength to get through the day. It is enough. And more. It is the light we have so desperately been searching for.

It’s Easter morning, and I can sense a buzz.

Or maybe it’s a cry. One of chains breaking, of people rejoicing, of slow restorations, of newfound joy, or even of a man who managed to walk out of a tomb and speak life back into the world, back into your world.

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