Pioneer Cemetery, tucked into a corner of our property,
is one of my favorite places. It's peaceful and restful up
there and one can give thought to powerful, amazing ideas
in such a place.
is one of my favorite places. It's peaceful and restful up
there and one can give thought to powerful, amazing ideas
in such a place.
My
regular readers will know that Sundays are special days for me. I like the
quiet, lazy ways they begin and the freedom they seem to give me to meditate
and relax. I especially like Easter Sunday for reasons I don’t totally
understand.
by Charlie Leck
by Charlie Leck
The resurrection
story is a powerful, powerful account that Christians hold at the very center
of their hope and faith. I personally believe that it is even more powerful
when it is not held to as a literal account. Like all great mythology, the story
points to powerful truths – more true, even, than the story would be if it were
seen as a factual account.
The Easter story,
for me, has always been a message that death has no power over me (or thee, for
that matter). If death has no power – if we are free from fearing it – it also
loses its control over the lives we live. Therefore, I may move on, free and
joyous, in living whatever days life gives me; and at the end of this journey I
shall still be free and at rest in eternal peacefulness – in the embrace of love.
Deeply convicted
Christians, for hundreds and hundreds of years, have traditionally encountered
each other on Easter Sunday morning with the powerful pronouncement: “The Lord is
risen!”
And the
traditional response to the comment is: “He has risen indeed!”
I stand before
the tomb in which they had laid his body. I stare in wonder at the huge stone
they had rolled before the tomb’s opening and have no doubt about the manner in
which the stone was rolled away. This is the work of the most powerful force in
the universe. For, you see, one can kill and conquer the mortal body; but love
is never defeated and never contained.
“How was the
stone rolled away, Grandpa?” My grandchildren listen in rapt awe – awe that
only a child can feel. “Who rolled it away?”
“The man they
killed and laid to rest there,” I try to explain, “came to show us how to love
everyone and how to show compassion to all people of every kind and type. I don’t
know why that is such a frightening message, but it was and always has been.
They thought he was odd and they lynched him. Those who loved him and believed
in him laid him reverently in that tomb and sealed it with a huge stone that
only many men could move.”
“Such love,” my
wee ones, “can never been contained or imprisoned. Love is more powerful than
armies of hatred. Love flung the stone aside and took him from his resting place that day, to hold him
forever in its embrace. We, too, shall be gathered to that loving bosom one day
and we shall also rest in it throughout eternity.”
Ah, Sunday
morning. It’s so peaceful and lovely here. Easter! I sit, imagining my grandchildren encircle me. We're listening to Chris
Cunningham. His mellow voice sings out: “The morning comes when it’s ready;
just brace yourself for a tidal wave!... The same message! ...The same words on a different shore! ...New music! The same news in a
different song!”
_________________________
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