Did Easter Shake Your World?

Even though I sipped coffee at home—and not on the beach—this morning, I felt the effects of the respite called spring break. 

Flowers are blooming. Birds singing. And baby birds chirping in a top corner of my pollen covered front porch. 

Blooming azaleas and dog wood trees enhanced our warm Easter weekend. And according to the news, we just hit our highest temp in 166 days. 

So, taking photos of the momma and daddy birds that flew around (and fussed at our lounging cat) slowed time and lured my soul back to resurrection and all things new.

Just like photographing the birds, venturing through Holy Week took me to unexpected places. Two stand out.

The first occurred at the end of a Palm Sunday service. After waving palm branches and singing All Glory Laud and Honor, the Methodist service diverted. The choir sang, Pietà, by Joseph Martin, a lovely piece that begins with these words:

“In the shadow of a manger, by a candle’s dancing flame, tender Mary holds her baby, and she breathes His holy name. ‘Jesus rest your weary head, close your weeping eyes.’ As evening falls, she starts to sing a lullaby. “Lulay, lulay, peace be yours tonight.”

From Christmas, the song led us to where Mary found Jesus in the temple, engaging the Pharisees, all grown up. And of course, in closing, we found her singing over him at the cross.

This recording brought me to tears again: Pietà

As if we hadn’t traveled far enough from cradle to cross, to close the service the congregation participated in a scripture reading led by several pastors. One quoted the narration. Another, the part of Jesus. Another, the part of Pilate. And the congregation, the incited crowd.

So, when we read these words from Mark 15, my role in this life-altering story came to life in a new way:

“’What shall I do, then, with the one you call the king of the Jews?’ Pilate asked them.

‘Crucify him!’ they [the crowd] shouted.

‘Why? What crimes has he committed?’ asked Pilate.

But they shouted all the louder, ‘Crucify him!’” 
(Mark 15: 12- 14 NIV).

In that moment, I felt immeshed with the dissenters. All these years later, their cry still rings out in our selfishness, our fear, our determined independence, our guilt and shame. 

“Crucify him!” They insisted. “Crucify him,” our sin demands. So, when the organ began to play Were You There When They Crucified My Lord, I could barely sing.

After Sunday lunch with Nathan, I drove back home. While resting with my cat, I received an unexpected text. Someone who had previously built tight walls to keep me out, surprisingly invited me in. Stunned, I waited to reply. But when I opened a piece of mail soon after, and read another note of acceptance from one who once kept their distance, I felt the earth move under my feet.

While the peace offerings meant a great deal, they also stirred unrest. Were they genuine? Trustworthy? Real? As doubt crept in, I questioned the sender’s intent and my response—until Saturday, Easter Eve, around 11 pm.

My home church hosted a read through the Bible event for the third year in a row. It started at 8 am on Good Friday, continued for 48 hours, and finished with the reading of the Book of Revelation at an Easter sunrise service. 

I waited until later to sign up, planning to fill in where needed. So, I went back and forth to the church three times on Saturday.

Right before Don and I stood to take our place on the stage at 10:40 pm, I learned the identity of others already there. Shocked, I hesitated. The people before me carried a severe wound related to the actions of others associated with me. Right or wrong, from what I knew, their strong emotions hadn’t subsided. And I didn’t want my presence to stir pain.

Unsure if they even recognized me, I thought about it for a long minute and let rationale overrule my concern. If there was any moment that potential adversaries should read scripture together, it was the night before Easter. And so, we did. 

Not long after they left, Don and I were asked to read Isaiah 53 – 56. Out of all the chapters in the Bible, I couldn’t have scripted a more poignant end to the swirling thoughts on forgiveness that culminated on that stage. 

Take a minute. Read this out loud:

“Who has believed our message

    and to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?

He grew up before him like a tender shoot,

    and like a root out of dry ground.

He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,

    nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.

He was despised and rejected by mankind,

    a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.

Like one from whom people hide their faces

    he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.

Surely he took up our pain

    and bore our suffering,

yet we considered him punished by God,

    stricken by him, and afflicted.

But he was pierced for our transgressions,

    he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,

    and by his wounds we are healed" (Isaiah 53: 1-5 NIV).

I choked on the words as I spoke them through tears. For, there's a higher way. It doesn't negate the pain or demand we brush away all wrongs. It simply states that because of the cross, because of Jesus' sacrifice, we are healed. And as that healing manifests itself in our souls, we can reach higher, forgive broadly, and love deeper. 

A supernatural transaction shook the world when Jesus stepped out of that grave. Will we let it shake ours?