Happy Easter
As they had been known to do on Sunday nights
after church, my parents had some
folks over for a visit. Someone was playing our little spinet organ and I heard
my dad singing this song. That was the night I first started on my journey to
believe. To believe in Jesus. To believe He had come to earth and died for my
salvation. To believe that this was my way, my truth, and my life. Now I
hadn’t committed many hardcore sins, and in retrospect, I’m sure
that first prayer of salvation was all about an insurance policy against a
terrible and firey ending. But turning my eyes upon Jesus, that Sunday night a
long time ago was the beginning of my
faith.
Today it seems hard to
rekindle that childlike faith. And for sure I can say that I’ve strayed.
Many times. Things of this world always entice me and I struggle to even want
to get back on the path. I not only need a holy week to remind me, sometimes a
holy decade.
I want the
paradox and the mystery of Holy Week to haunt me long after
today.
I’m positive
I’ll have more to say after Easter service but for now, I will try to look
full in his wonderful face and hopefully the things of earth will grow stangely
dim, in the light of his glory and grace.
Seven Days
That Shook The
World
by Greg
Kandra
Soon the
palms will be whips. The leaves will be thorns. Jubilation will become jeers.
It is easy to be
distracted by the events of the world, and not really pay attention to what we
will do this holy week. Somewhere, wars are raging, and politicians are
squabbling. Somewhere, Easter eggs are being sold, and chocolate is being
inventoried, and plastic grass is lining wicker baskets. But not here, not now,
not yet.
For
close to two thousand years, we have gathered like this, in places like this, to
light candles and chant prayers and read again the ancient stories of our
deliverance and
redemption.
But
are we aware of what we are doing? Do we understand what it means? Do we realize
the price that was paid? A proper accounting is impossible. The ledger—His
life, for our souls—seems woefully unbalanced. Has anything we have ever
worried about, or lost sleep over, or agonized about, even come
close?
He was a
man like us in all things but sin. He must have been terrified, His mind buzzing
with questions. Long after the others had drifted off to sleep, did He stay
awake and worry? Maybe He sat up alone, late at night, whittling a piece of
wood, the way His father had taught Him, until a splinter sliced His skin,
drawing a rivulet of blood. He might have flinched and thought: Well, this is
nothing. And still it stings. How intense would the pain of death become? How
long would it last? How much humiliation would He be forced to endure, stripped
and
bleeding?
Because,
of all the calendars in all of human history, this is the week that changed the
world.
Posted: Sun - April 16, 2006 at 10:42 AM