i went to bed last night around 2 a.m. knowing that in a few short hours i would be getting up to celebrate the resurrection of my Lord. As I was lying there in bed, listening to Rachael's quiet, steady breathing, a question came to my mind - one I've never had before.
What time did Jesus rise from His tomb?
I wondered if He had awoken that very hour. This brought up a series of questions that I allowed my self to wonder about... Did angels come to unwrap Him and wake Him from slumber? Or did His eyes flutter open in the dark? Did He wake up peacefully, or did He struggle and cough, choking on the stale air? What were His thoughts as the door of the tomb opened? What were His thoughts as His eyes adjusted to the brightness of the light that streamed in?
How much time passed between the moment He woke up and the moment He met the women who were coming (while it was still dark) to dress him in spices and new linen?
What did He do while the time passed? I wanted to know if He ran around the tomb dancing and shouting. Or if, instead, He meditated, had a talk with Dad, quieted His spirit in preparation for the days ahead.
Did He cross paths with some wayward soul and sit down for a bit? Exchanging stories with a drunk, he confessed "I turned water into wine once..." - the drunk decided he'd made a valuable friendship ;)
Did He wander, picking flowers, remembering the prophets' promises He was proving? Did He pray for the disciples? Did He pray for Judas? Did he decide what He should say to Peter?
Did He anticipate the earnestness of his disciple, Thomas?
Did He long for John's compassionate embrace again?
Did He miss His mother's face, scorn the tears she cried?
Did He miss the friendly company of Mary Magdalene?
Rachael and I got up at 6:10 to go to mass at Sacred Heart Catholic Church in downtown Tampa. Catholic churches make me feel so small. Not in a bad way. But in a humble way. It's humbling to go to a new place where you don't know the traditions, the customs, when you don't know to kneel before you sit, which way to "cross" yourself, when to stand, when to kneel, when to answer... what to say...
I think when the protestants broke away from the Church (when we became Catholic or Protestant) we wanted desperately to be free - from limitations, from bondage to tradition, from corruption - that we ran screaming from awe and reverence, gasping at breath, we ran toward the face of a holy God who has always wanted to gather us up in the love of His arms. But then we lost reverence. We lost awe. We lost our smallness, because after so long, we could look Him right in the face and ask... "what about THIS?"
After the service was over, we drove down the street to our own Watermark Community Church where the sound guy and the worship leader were just starting to set up. I pulled out my violin and tuned up, and got ready to worship my God in my own way. It is Easter, the day the earth shook and expelled a man from the grave, the day God unjustly saw fit to spare my unworthy soul from justice. "Come and listen to what He's done..." we invited the revelers to gather together in thanksgiving. "Were you there when they crucified my saviour?" we remembered the real human pain He experienced. "Praise Him from whom all blessings flow..."
It is in this context that I have learnt compassion. I have understood truth. I have known freedom.
And I've had goosebumps off and on since I woke up - realizing the monumental importance of this day, in the heritage of my faith. Is there more to life than simply this pitiful existence, where we attempt to grab hold of security, accomplishment and satisfaction? Yeah, there is more. It is found in the words, in the actions, in the eyes of my Jesus.
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