easter sunday

Easter Sunday 2014

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“Almighty God, who through your only-begotten Son Jesus Christ overcame death and opened to us the gate of everlasting life: Grant that we, who celebrate with joy the day of the Lord’s resurrection, may be raised from the death of sin by your life-giving Spirit; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen”

It’s Easter.

I celebrated with about 130 or so others at the future location of The Church at Avenue South. Though the building has been gutted and won’t be ready for official use for another two months, still the real church got together to proclaim to anyone and everyone that this is Resurrection Day.

The resurrection DOES change everything. It means no more fear of death because Jesus overcame that last enemy when he walked out of the tomb with the sunrise on that first Easter Sunday. It means that whatever I’m afraid of has already been defeated and overcome by this same resurrection power that brought Jesus from death to life.

It means that there is no such thing as TOO LATE, that there’s always time for a do-over and a second chance and a fresh start, that as long as we’re alive we have a purpose and a God willing to bring out that purpose in us.

So I revisit an old Easter toast that I blogged about three years ago today: “We lift our glasses and drink to a Love that never gave up.”

https://oneragamuffin.wordpress.com/2011/04/20/an-easter-toast-stolen-from-someone-on-facebook/

I’ve posted a link so you can read the original post if you want.

Regardless, I’m glad that Easter has come. I’m glad that it isn’t just one day a year, but something that I can celebrate all 365 days (and 366 on those leap years). I’m thankful that just because the holiday ends doesn’t mean the power of that resurrection or its effects do.

 

April Fool’s Day

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I have to admit. I missed out on the fun. I was neither the prankster nor the prank-ee, although Monday itself is enough of a bad prank for anyone.

I went on my first run since December and did better than expected. I thought surely I’d be huffing and puffing and passing out after a few blocks, but I ran 2 miles in 21 minutes, which may not be any new world record for speed but was good enough for me.

I wore my brand-new, never-worn, red New Balance running shoes. And man, they are red. I suppose if I clicked my heels together I might wind up in Kansas. They are that red.

It seems like there’s always a bit of a letdown after any major holiday. For me, I always dreaded the day after Christmas, because all that hype and excitement was over and there were 364 more days till the next one. I could always console myself after Thanksgiving with leftovers, so that wasn’t so bad.

But for Easter, I somehow seem to forget so easily what I just celebrated. That Jesus is alive, that not even death and hell could hold him, that there is new life and new hope now that wasn’t there before.

I guess I’ll have to look into this Pentecost Sunday business and find out what it’s all about. It wasn’t on my Baptist radar growing up, so I don’t know too much about it. I just know that one day isn’t enough to celebrate the resurrection anymore than one day is sufficient to celebrate Jesus’ miraculous birth.

I just looked up Pentecost on Wikipedia and found out that the main sign of Pentecost in the Western Churches is the color red, symbolizing joy and the fire of the Holy Spirit. So maybe I’ll wear my red shoes.

Next year, I hope I won’t be fooled into letting the meaning of Easter slip away so easily after only one day. And maybe I can come up with a good prank.

An Easter Reboot

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“The truth, even though I cannot feel it right now, is that I am the chosen child of God, precious in God’s eyes, called the Beloved from all eternity and held safe in an everlasting embrace… We must dare to opt consciously for our chosenness and not allow our emotions, feelings, or passions to seduce us into self-rejection” (Henri Nouwen).

The stone was rolled away from the door, not to permit Christ to come out, but to enable the disciples to go in” (Peter Marshall).

Sometimes, it takes Easter to get my mind refocused. Like so many of you, I can get off track so very easily and forget who I am and what I’m here for. I need to be reminded that I am indeed the beloved, the chosen child of God. My purpose is to live that out as best I can, to become what God has already declared me to be.

I take Easter for granted because I already know how the story ends. Or at least I think I do.

In fact, Easter isn’t an end, but a beginning. C. S. Lewis in his book, The Last Battle, said that all of history was merely a title page and a preface. Eternity is the real beginning of the book, where each chapter is better than the last and the story is truly neverending.

Easter reminds me that my forgiveness might have been free for me, but not free. it might have not cost me anything, but it was not without cost. I don’t need to forget that my forgiveness cost God the very highest price and is the most extravagant gift ever given in history. I don’t need to take that lightly or for granted.

Easter also reminds me that failure isn’t final, that goodbyes aren’t forever, and that truth and faith and love and hope all survive the grave and come out stronger on the other side. I guess that’s why I love it so much.

 

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The Seven Stations of the Cross

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Tonight, I went to a Prayer Experience at Brentwood Baptist Church. It was about praying through the seven stations of the cross. I know that the Roman Catholic Church has 14, but we’re Baptists, so seven for us is a good start.

I didn’t spend too much time at each station, but just enough to grasp a little more of what the Cross meant for me.

I’ve always known about Jesus dying on the cross to save me, but I guess I never really let myself go there in a really deep and meaningful way. If you do, you find shame and humiliation. You find excruciating pain and suffering. You find the most agony one man has ever endured in the history of mankind.

I became aware that it was my humiliation and shame that Jesus bore. It was my sin that he carried on that cross and it was my death that he died. I should have been up there, nailed to that piece of wood.

I realized for the first time that Jesus doesn’t want my sympathy for what happened to him there. He doesn’t want me to feel sorry for him up there. He wants me. All of me. My heart, my mind, my will, my life, all of it.

Just as Simon of Cyrene picked up Jesus’ cross and carried it for him, I’m called to pick up a cross and carry it. That’s what being a disciple means.

Jesus would have done all of it for me, even if I were the only one in the world who needed it. That thought still astounds me. He loves me that much.

So don’t skim over this part of the story. Allow yourself to go there emotionally and mentally and spiritually. Stand in front of the cross and witness the suffering Savior and grieve with his followers. Watch as he is laid in the tomb. Remember that all of this is for you.

Then you can celebrate Easter Sunday.

Good Friday

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“[B]ut we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel” (Luke 24:21).

It’s easy to skip past this part on the way to the Easter Sunday celebrations, but this year I feel the need to slow down and try to appreciate what the disciples must have been going through at this point.

Their leader, Jesus, was dead and in the tomb. Their hopes and dreams had been dashed to pieces and they had nothing left. The one they loved had left them.

I know what it’s like to have to say goodbye to a loved one. It’s not easy. To realize you can never go back and unsay harsh words or say words of love. To know that this is final.

All the disciples had at the moment was pieces of a shattered faith and each other. All they could do was sit silently in the same room, lost for words that could possibly bring comfort or understanding. It had all happened so fast. One moment, Jesus was with them, laughing and encouraging them to be strong, the next he was gone.

I wonder if any of the disciples got trapped in the cycle of “if only.” If only we hadn’t gone to Jerusalem. If only we had recognized Judas’ true colors before. If only we could have gotten away from the garden sooner. If only.

They still had so many questions to ask Jesus. There was still so much they didn’t understand, especially about when he said he could raise up the temple again in three days.

Who else would show them the Father in such a real and tangible way? Who else would open up the Scriptures in such a fresh and vibrant way? Who else would teach by such authority?

They had no answers, only questions.

It’s Friday, but Sunday’s comin’.

Rise: A Night of Worship and What Came Out Of It

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I went to a very special and unique Kairos event. It was billed as another Night of Worship, but started off very different than any service I’d ever been to before.

It started as a mock funeral. Mike Glenn led somber-faced pallbearers carrying a casket into the sanctuary. He then proceeded to preach a funeral service for Jesus just as he might for any member of the congregation who passed away.

It might seem a bit macabre, but it really brought two points home to me.

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First, the sin I so easily dismiss and take for granted has consequences. As Mike said, sin brings death to everybody every time. In this case, Jesus took the death that should have been mine. Whenever I look lightly at my sin, I need to remember that it cost Jesus his life.

Second, I must never forget the price paid for my life. Jesus thought I was worth every drop of his blood. That means that I have value beyond my income potential or job title or social status. I have value both in being created in God’s image and redeemed by his Son Jesus.

You can’t have Easter Sunday without Good Friday. The resurrection doesn’t mean anything without the cross. The triumph loses its impact without the suffering and the agony that proceeded it. I love what I read earlier today that the cross wasn’t a defeat and the resurrection the victory. The cross was the victory and the resurrection was the icing on the cake, the proof of that victory for the world to see. You need both.

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For me, the worship at the end meant more because I saw what my sin cost Jesus and what great lengths he went through for me because he’d rather go through hell for me than go to heaven without me (to borrow from Max Lucado).

May you and I have the courage to face Good Friday and take every bit of it in and not just skip to Easter Sunday and the happy part. May we never take lightly or for granted the sin that cost Jesus his life or treat as cheap the life he paid the ultimate price to redeem.

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For Whitney: The Questions None of Us Can Ever Escape

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I watched most of Whitney Houston’s funeral. I kept thinking the whole time, “This shouldn’t be happening. This should be the funeral of someone much older who had lived a full life and was ready to go.” If Whitney was in the news, it should be that her comeback album was due and how she was sounding better than ever.

But that was not the case.

Kevin Costner’s tribute resonated with me the most. He said that when she was auditioning for the leading female role in the bodyguard, she was plagued with insecurities. She kept asking, “Am I good enough? Am I pretty enough? Will people like me?” Those were the questions she had asked all her life.

For so many of us, we ask those same questions. I personally have never asked if I was pretty enough, but I did wonder if I really had what it takes and if I could ever be attractive to the opposite sex.

Sadly, many look for answers in the wrong places. Too many seek to numb the pain of the questions when they can’t find the answers. Whitney’s own struggles with her own demons were ones she couldn’t overcome in the end.

I am thankful I can look at my faith and find the answers to these questions. I’m thankful that when Jesus said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life,” He meant it.

Whitney, if I could tell you anything, it would be this. Yes, you were more than good enough; you were great. You were more than pretty enough; you were beautiful. You were so much more than liked; you were loved by so many.

Not because you could sing better than just about anybody who has ever lived. Not because you were beautiful and had that breathtaking smile that made us believe what you sang about.

Not because you sold millions of albums or had sold-out concerts or had those 7 #1 singles in a row. It was because you were a child of the King. It was because Jesus loved you before you were even born and set His affections on you from the very beginning.

Jesus loved you through it all, the good and bad days. Even when you were hopelessly addicted to drugs and alcohol. Even when you had wrecked your once-glorious voice. Even when you had become a running joke to the media.

And Jesus loves you still. Nothing will ever change that.

I can’t speak to Whitney in person, but I can speak to millions of teenage Whitneys out there, crying for someone to tell them they are good enough and pretty enough and to love them for who they are.

Jesus does. He can take the most wrecked and ruined life and transform it into something more beautiful than anything you can imagine. He can take your very worst moment and turn that into the first sentence of your testimony.

Whitney, you may have lost the battle to drugs, but you won the war in Jesus. You are now free from those fears and anxieties you never could shake, those painful memories that haunted you, those voices that not even cocaine and alcohol could drown out.

As I heard in the funeral, it seems like death had the last word. But Love is so much stronger than death, for Jesus disarmed it completely when He stepped out of the grave on Easter Sunday morning.

The legacy of your music and your love for Jesus will outlive the drugs and alcohol and scandal. You fought the good fight and God looked down and saw it was time for you to come Home.

Rest in the arms of your Abba Father tonight, Whitney.