(Image from ciyh.net.)

In the midst of a joyfully busy season, I have been finding it difficult to focus my heart and mind on the events that really took place that first Easter.

As I consider, I wonder:  if I could peek back in time at that tomb on that glorious Sunday morning, would I be just as surprised as Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to find an angel and an empty tomb?  Do I really believe it all?

Intellectually, I know the answer is yes, and yet, I find a need in my own heart to repeat over and over to myself,  “This really happened!”   – to rehearse the events, to preach them, to imagine them, until I persuade myself that a man who was God really died and really came back to life.  And that He did it for me.

In 1 Corinthians 15, Paul writes this (emphasis mine):

17 And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins. 18 Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ are lost. 19 If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men.

(Read the whole chapter here.)

There are those who believe that Christianity, or any faith, is a crutch.  A nice thought to carry you through a difficult day or a difficult life.   A happy fantasy to stay the minds of the weak.

But a lie is never a nice thought.  A fantasy is never happy.  I have no desire to live under a delusion in order to make my world feel a little bit safer or to ease the pain of life’s burdens.

The gospel is only “good news” if it is true, and, praise God, it is!

Had I been there with the Marys at dawn that Sunday morning, picking up the pieces of devastating defeat and crushed dreams, I would have beheld a real, live, gloriously empty tomb.  I would have seen that it was all real beyond my wildest dreams, and I would have rejoiced!

He has risen indeed!