Reflections on Easter

A week ago was Good Friday. A week ago was the anniversary of a death that set me free. 

This year, as I've been thinking about Easter, taking in the different services, and fielding questions from Buddy, new things struck me. By far, the most powerful idea that stood out to me was how all of nature reacted to Jesus' death.

Think about it. The sky grew dark. The earth shook. Creation seemed to understand the magnitude and agony wrapped up in the crucifixion. It is a terrible and wondrous thing to dwell on.

The week before Jesus gave up his spirit, He alluded to nature and how if we do not praise Him, the rocks will cry out. While I'm not going to say that the earthquake was praise, I will say it was a moan, a cry, desperation made manifest to alleviate the grief brought on by the death of the Creator.

On Sunday, a friend of ours did a brilliant job singing the old hymn "O Sacred Head Now Wounded", accompanied by a stand-up bass. This hymn has become a favourite of mine in recent history, with the mournful tones and matching lyrics, but the verse that stood out this time, echos the sentiment of natures grief:

"What language can I borrow to thank Thee, Dearest Friend,
for this, thy dying sorrow - a pity without end."

How can we even begin to comprehend, let alone express the exquisite anguish of the cross? I find that I don't often focus on  the scorn of the cross, but on my benefit from it. How selfish and shameful is that? -it's like another nail in the coffin, so to speak. I am grateful for the work done there, but forget how it was done. This year, my soul was moved to silence, to wordless streaming tears of pain.

To focus too long on this grief and wallow in it is not great. We know, unlike his disciples at the time, that Jesus did not stay dead.  The gloriousness of the resurrection is juxtaposed so perfectly. My soul, on Sunday could not keep quiet, but again, had no language for praise grand enough. Nature again takes up where we cannot  - Psalm 19: 1-4. :

The heavens declare  the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands
Day after day the pour forth speech;
night after night the reveal their knowledge.
They have no speech, they use no words, no sound is heard from them.
 Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world.

How do we praise a God like ours? How can we but help it?

XO,
J

Soli Deo Gloria