“The time has come. The kingdom of God is at hand. Repent and believe the good news!” (Mark 1:15)
Repentance always involves a two-part movement: a turning away and a
turning toward. Turning away from
autonomy and turning toward obedience, turning away from control and turning
toward surrender, turning away from independence and turning toward
dependence. Ultimately, repentance is
about turning away from my kingdom and turning toward God’s.
“You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance.” (Psalm 66:12)
To reach the land of abundance, it seems, we must go through the fire and the water. There is no way around it. To get to the place called resurrection, we must go through the doorway of death. In the words of C. S. Lewis, “Only that which has died will be resurrected.” So, struggle is a prerequisite for growth and death is the prerequisite for resurrection.
That being the case, it seems like we would stop getting so offended and hurt and surprised when we have to go through hard things. God told us that it would be this way. It was that way for Jesus, so why would we expect it to be any different for us? Why should we get an exemption? Hard things should just be a sign to us that we are on the right path, and the final destination is oh so good.
There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. (Mt. 28:2)
Sometimes it takes an
earthquake to roll away the stone.
Sometimes we must be disrupted before we can be resurrected. Sometimes God has to shake us up in order to
set us free.
They couldn’t understand it on their own, nor could they explain it. (Luke 24:15-32) They were at a loss to try and figure it all out, teeming with doubts and fears and uncertainties. Having so many more questions than answers. How were they supposed to make sense of what had happened over the last few days, much less the last few years? And yet there they were, walking along the road, lost in a mass of chaos and grief and confusion.
That is, until he showed
up. He seemingly came out of nowhere,
joining them on their journey, just walking alongside them. He joined in the conversation, not hijacking
it, but asking questions and letting them talk about what was on their minds
and hearts. They were so consumed and perplexed
that they didn’t even recognize him, which was exactly the way he wanted it.
And finally, when he did
speak, they were mesmerized. His words
started a fire deep in their hearts. It
wasn’t until he broke the bread that their eyes were finally opened and saw
that it was their beloved Jesus. The one
who had shared this same meal with them in the upper room, was back from the
dead. He was alive!
We have much to learn about
the Risen Jesus as well. We cannot be
sure when or where or how me might show up.
We cannot control or determine or manipulate his comings and
goings. We are totally dependent on
him. We cannot see on our own, we cannot
understand on our own, we cannot recognize him on our own. We cannot figure it out on our own, we cannot
make sense of it on our own, and we cannot make our own hearts burn within us. All of this must be done for us by
Jesus. Life with Jesus is about absolute
dependence and complete surrender. His
job is to come; our job is to wait. For
unless he comes and walks along with us, our eyes will never be opened.
One of the many things we celebrate on Easter Sunday is our invitation into the risen life of Jesus. This invitation involves a beautiful shift from constantly thinking about what must die in us, to the freedom to think about, and dream about, what wants to be (and is already being) born in us. And after forty-plus days of Lent, it is a welcome relief.
There’s a certain powerlessness to Holy Saturday that is really good for us. We can’t produce or manufacture resurrection; we can’t hasten it, hurry it, or control it. All we can do is wait for it.
